Stranger
by MC-CAT
Summary: Bella ,OC, lands herself in THE LORD OF THE RINGS at the mercy of Eomer and his Rohirrim. What shall she do with war looming on the horizon? Rated "M" for strong language. If you have issues with profanity, you have been fairly warned.
1. Chapter 1: Lightning

"Hey, stop! Why won't you just listen to me?"

"Why should I? You never listen to me either! And now you expect me to accept some cock-and-bull story about how you were too hammered to realize what you were doing?!" Bella shouted.

"Well, I was! Just because you won't believe m-"

"I know how you drink. You never get totally smashed, not even with me! And I drink like a guy; everyone says it. Besides, you and Clara have been making moon-eyes at each other for about a month now, and don't tell me that it's crazy jealousy talking. Honestly," she whirled about suddenly, making him stop short. "I really don't give a shit." With that she cocked her fist back and swung, making contact with his jaw. He staggered back, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on the ground. "I need a man who can take a punch," she spit out. With that, she turned again on her heel and stormed off, glowering at the dark clouds above. Her father had been right: she was cursed with men. He'd always jokingly blamed himself, saying that he never treated her like a "girly-girl." She hadn't cared; she'd never been one of those foreign creatures. Her curse with men was her own doing; she was so tomboy-ish, that she made a better friend than girlfriend. That's how it had always been. Not that she'd ever minded, at least, not until the boys brought it up during the break-ups. Oh, and they always brought it up.

Rain began to fall as she stomped up the stairs into the stables that adjoined the garage. Inside, her horse, Celebrían, was poking her head out of her stall, having been disturbed by the argument outside. "Abla kela, Celebrian," she murmured. Her mother's ancestry included Lakota Sioux as well as Italian. Her father was Greek and French. As Bella often joked, "I'm a mutt if you ever saw one." Her horse, Celebrian, only responded to her when she spoke in either Lakota or Latin. Celebrian was an Arabian White; a gift from her father. As a young colt, Celebrian had always been attuned to Bella's moods; hence the two were almost inseparable. "I wish Dad was here," she whispered sadly. Her mother died before she could remember her and her father had passed the year before in a car accident; he'd swerved so that he wouldn't hit a crazy motorcyclist who'd had too much to drink. Her own motorcycle was in the garage, but she hadn't ridden it in a long time. "Reveniem," she told Celebrian, stroking her beautiful forehead.

The rain was coming down even harder now, plinking against the windows in swift, heavy drops. Bella walked into her bedroom, pulling out a knapsack from under the bed. It was made of leather, old and faded, with fringe lining the flap. It was one of several things that had belonged to her mother. Stripping herself of the nicer clothes she'd been in, Bella put on her most comfortable faded jeans, a gray tank-top, athletic socks, and her worn leather boots. In addition, she pulled out a pair of sneakers; they had been a gift from her maternal grandmother and, in terms of physical appearance, could have easily been mistaken for moccasins. Her grandmother had died of natural causes some time ago. None of the rest of her family was alive. She'd never felt alone though; she'd always had Celebrian. A smile crossed her face as she remembered the day Celebrian had gotten her name.

_Celebrian had only been about a year old at the time; Bella and her father were lounging about in the grassy field which surrounded their home. In his hands he held a rather beaten copy of THE LORD OF THE RINGS by J.R.R. Tolkien; it had been his favorite. "You know," he said, watching Celebrian trot about, "that horse of yours needs a name."_

_Bella frowned: she was terrible with thinking of names. "I haven't decided on one, yet."_

_"Mind if I help, kiddo?" he'd smiled mischievously. _Kiddo; he'd always called her that, no matter what. She'd always been his "kiddo."

_"Depends on what you were thinking."_

_"Well, see, your horse there reminds me of Shadowfax."_

_"Gandalf's horse? You've been reading that story too much, Dad."_

_"That's beside the point. But, yes, I do mean that Shadowfax. Now, your horse is a girl, and I really don't think we should name it deliberately after a fictional horse. That just seems like it would be bad luck. But, there is a name which would fit her perfectly."_

_"And why is that? If you say Gimli, Merry, or Pippin, I might have to smack you."_

_"No, no. I'm being serious now. A horse's name says much about the horse. I think you should name her Celebrian. It's Elvish—"_

_"I gathered that much."_

_"—and it means, 'silver maiden.' What d'you think, kiddo?"_

_Bella remembered turning the name over and over in her mind, making sure to take an extra long time, just to irritate her father. "Hmm," she'd finally said aloud, "It does have promise."_

_"Promise?" her dad had laughed. "Now I know that you're just pullin' my leg." He'd shoved her shoulder playfully, causing her to laugh as well._

_"Alright, Celebrian it is then."_

Bella turned to her chest of drawers and quickly rummaged through them. She pulled out an extra pair of socks, another tank top, and her dad's old leather jacket. Slipping it on, she inhaled the great scent that it had captured: it was her dad, through and through. It smelled of horses, autumn air, and grapefruit. Her dad had always stacked half the fridge with grapefruit, said it was good for the soul. In the pocket of the jacket, she pulled out a simple pendant. It was a light blue ceramic lustre disc—the exact shade of her own eyes—on an unadorned leather throng. It had been a gift for her 18th birthday from her father. Her eyes had been exactly like his own: perfectly almond shaped and a brilliant shade of clear, light blue. He himself had gotten a similar pendant. "So we can match," he'd said. Placing the throng about her neck, she continued digging through the drawers. She pulled out his copy of THE LORD OF THE RINGS and her iPod. Although she had the entire Tolkien saga on her Kindle, holding the book always made her peaceful, as if her father were still there.

Bella shoved the clothes, sneakers, and various other objects into the knapsack. From under her pillow she pulled out four knives, stuffing one in the sack, two in the holsters that sat on her hips, and the final one in a boot holster. Her father had always said, "When you go out, go out like there could be a battle." As if to emphasize the fact, her father had taught her fencing, wilderness survival skills, archery, and various other self-defense techniques. She'd been raised tough, but she'd always loved it. Of course, her one weakness was that she wanted to start off too big, and would thus get overwhelmed. So now, whenever she went riding (on either Celebrian or her motorbike) she carried a few knives with her. They came in handy whenever she was at bars and some idiot decided she'd be easy.

She took one of numerous elastics off her wrist and pulled back her hair into a high ponytail. Her hair was light brown with natural blonde highlights and as thick as a horse's mane. It never could decide whether it wanted to be curly or wavy, so it usually just looked like a strange combination of both. Double checking that she hadn't missed anything, Bella grabbed a bottled water of the side table and returned to the stables. Celebrian hadn't moved, her head still poking out of her stall. "Winye la?" she smiled at Celebrian. The horse nodded, pushing her nose against the stall door. Bella opened the door and turned to get the saddle. Celebrian, deciding to be playful, trotted up silently to Bella and bumped her from behind. "Hey!" she turned, laughing. "Scis es iocum?" Celebrian nodded. "Owewakaka," Bella teased. After having saddled up Celebrian, Bella swung up onto her back and charged out into the rain.

Bella felt like she was flying, utterly free against the wild wind and rain. Celebrian ghosted across the open fields, silent in the chaotic weather. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky yards away and Bella shouted, cheered. "Iyaya, Celebrian!" she urged the horse forward, loving the rush of adrenaline which shot through her veins. Another streak of lightning struck near her, yet she pressed onward. She could feel the torment raging in the sky, feel it in her bones. Suddenly, it seemed almost silent; it was eerie. She knew what was coming before it did. The lightning struck through the charged air; Bella saw only white and was thrown off of Celebrian.


	2. Chapter 2: Rohan

The ground was muddy, rain still falling. Bella got up, brushing off her front, spitting out a mouthful of mud. "Celebrian!" she called. She whistled and called out again, "Hi! Celebrian! Hiyu, Celebrian!" The horse came charging at her, stopping mere inches away. "Toka sni?" The horse nodded, nuzzling against her face. Bella rested her forehead against the horse's, closing her eyes and breathing deep. That had been a close call. Thunder rumbled, getting louder and louder. That was strange; it should have subsided by now. But still its noise continued to grow, shaking the ground. _Wait a moment_, she thought. Her eyes flew open and she was surrounded by men on horseback, spears aimed at her. "What the hell?" she said, more to herself than anyone else.

A rider came forward out of the throng. He was dressed in full, earth-colored armor, the helmet on his head bearing the crest of a horse and a long mane of hair. Fiercely he gazed at her with piercing hazel eyes. "Who are you? What is your business here?" he was almost shouting.

"Excuse me? I should ask you the same question! I'm the one with dozens of spears in my face," she spat angrily back. Bella had always had a quick temper and did not like being on the defensive, or outnumbered. "Did I kick your drunken brother's ass on the way to the medieval festival or something?!" she shouted. "You're acting like I'm some huge threat!" _Which I will be if you don't back off_, she thought.

The rider dismounted, eyes hard, and advanced upon her until he was right in her face. "Are you a threat?" he asked menacingly.

Anger built up within her at the close proximity and his tone. "Look, pal, I don't know who you think you are," she had thrown her shoulders back and closed the few inches between their faces so that their noses were nearly touching, "but if you don't back off out of my face and ditch the lousy attitude right now, I will make myself a threat to you!" she moved from her hip holster, gripping the knife's hilt, and put it at the man's throat before he'd had a chance to blink. "Got it?"

"You'll be dead before you get a chance to kill me," he growled.

She sighed, slipping the knife back into its holster, "I'm not going to kill you. I don't even know who the hell you are."

"What is your business in the Riddermark?" he asked gruffly as one of the horse-borne soldiers pressed his spear dangerously close to her back.

"What the hell?" she turned on the soldier with the spear. "Do you mind? I mean, how would you feel if I suddenly—did you say the Riddermark?" she asked, turning again to the rider she'd threatened.

"Speak quickly!"

"No way, back up a second! Did you seriously say the Riddermark? As in: Rohan, Home of the Horse Lords? J.R.R. Tolkien and all?"

"Of course I mean Rohan! Now who is this person you speak of?"

She began laughing hysterically. "Oh wow! Wow. Really funny, guys. Did my ex-boyfriend put you up to this? Because, I've got to hand it to you, you're really good. I almost believed you for a sec—" she broke off, having finally gotten a view of the land outside the circle of riders. It was plains, yes, but interrupted by rocks and boulders, nothing like the field she had been riding through. "Oh my god," she breathed. _This feels so Dorothy-esque. Definitely n_o_t home anymore_.

"Your business, stranger," the man demanded again, hand at the hilt of his sword.

"Steady on, warrior," she put up her hands, trying to calm the situation. "So, I'll go along with this and say that I'm suddenly in Rohan." _The fictional realm of Rohan. Not that they know that._ "So, to answer your question: I have no idea how I got here. Until a few seconds ago, I didn't even know where he was. Therefore, I have no business here in Rohan. Neither does my horse either. Just speaking for her, if you don't mind." Nobody moved, a bad feeling squirmed in her gut. If they didn't believe her, then she was totally dead. _C'mon, think! Lord of the Rings; what do you remember about Rohan, besides that it's the home of the Horse Lords._

"Spies of the enemy are constantly slipping past our nets," the man noted.

_Spies? Aw shit: it's the War of the Ring. Wait! No that makes things easier. Who's the king? Theoden!_ "I am no spy. I am a friend of Rohan and of Théoden, your king. I am merely a traveler, no more, no less."

"A traveler who carries arms?" the man's eyebrow went up.

Bella sighed. _Figures._ She reached her hand into the hip holsters and pulled out the knives, reaching into her boot holster she pulled out the third one and dropped them on the ground before the man. "There's a fourth in the knapsack, I mean, saddlebag. Now you know my weapons. I am unarmed." _Stay calm. Just remain calm. Maybe they won't kill you_.

The man gazed at her for a few more seconds, then turned and said something to the riders in an unfamiliar language: Rohirric. He took off his helmet, revealing a full head of sun-bleached hair. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe, not even his own kin. I am Eomer, son of Eomund, nephew to king Théoden and former Third Marshal of the Mark."

"Former?"

"My company and I were recently banished."

"By Grima Wormtongue," she finished. It was all coming back to her now, as if from a dream. Sitting on her father's lap as he read to her from the faded pages; pages which were now within the pockets of her knapsack.

"How do you know of this?" Eomer demanded.

"Rumor," she answered quickly, hoping he'd see past her lie. Eomer scowled, but pressed the issue no further.

"To where were you headed?"

"Um, Edoras to begin with," she spoke, thinking quickly, "but I shall head no longer in that direction, seeing as the halls of the king are no longer what they once were."

"You shall travel with us," Eomer decided. "Until I can trust you to continue travelling in this land alone."

Bella scowled, but nodded. She needed desperately to stay on Eomer's good side if she was to survive this strange dream she was in. After picking her knives up and putting them back into place, she climbed atop Celebrian, whispering to the horse, "Abla kela. Abla kela. Iyepi waste." She pulled back up, sitting at her full height. The rider next to her was gazing at her with narrow eyes, curiosity burning behind them.

"What did you say to him?"

"To be calm. That you were not the enemy."

"That was not the language of Mordor spies."

"No it was not. I do not know that language, nor should anyone. It is an evil tongue. That was the language of my people. Well, one of them anyway."

"One of them?"

_Okay, how to explain to someone who is pure-blooded man of Rohan_. "I am a child of many lands and people," she said. "My home country is full of many different races, much like yours. But we all live as one nation."

"Your country?"

"Is very, very far from here."

The man nodded and said no more. The party rode at a quick pace in silence for a long time. Finally, wanting desperately to understand her whole situation, she turned to the rider she'd spoken to before, "My name is Bella."

"Pardon me, m'lady?"

"No, not m'lady. Please don't use titles. My name is Bella. What is yours?"

"Gamling. I am the one of the company who was not banished. I chose to follow Lord Eomer in order to help defend my country. I am of no use back in Edoras."

She nodded, "I understand. Tell me, what is the news of late?" She needed to know how far along she was in the story. It would not serve her well to slip up and suddenly reveal the future.

"None that is good. The king is sick and Wormtongue merely poisons his mind further. Theodred, the king's son, is dead; attacked by a company of Orcs from Isenguard. We, as you know, have been banished upon pain of death from Rohan. The separation from his sister, Eowyn, greatly disturbs Lord Eomer."

"But is she not a shield maiden of Rohan? I think she'll be able to defend herself."

Gamling laughed quietly. "Aye, that she will be. And you, miss? Are you a shield maiden in your own country?"

"Of sorts. My father taught me how to fight with almost every weapon. Although, he never did teach me of spears and my sword-work is rusty." Fencing was all well and good, but she had the feeling that combat with swords here was completely different from what she had learned.

"Gamling!" came Eomer's voice.

"Excuse me, m'lady," he nodded.

"It's Bella!" she shouted after him. Although she couldn't be sure, Bella would've sworn that he laughed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Third Marshal of the Mark

She and Celebrían rode in silence for the rest of the day, surrounded by the men of the Rohirrim. Finally, when the company stopped for the night, Bella realized that she did not know exactly what to do. When going camping out in the wilderness, Bella was smart enough to pack a tent, but often fell asleep under the stars with Celebrían. Here, however, she was sure it was not in her best interest to sleep outside without a tent. They were on the edge of a great, dark forest. "Fanghorn," she spoke quietly.

"I would not go in there, if I were you," came a low voice behind her. Éomer was standing next to his horse, relieving himself of his helmet.

"I had no intention to do so," Bella replied. Actually, that was a tiny lie. She was interested in what lay in the depths of the dense forest.

"I shall show you to your tent," Éomer said suddenly and turned with his horse.

She had to jog a little to catch up, but once she did, kept pace with him easily. His horse was gigantic, a lustrous shade of black, and walked with the same gravity as his master. There was something else there too: a repressed sense of rage and fury. It was something that she sensed in Éomer as well. "What is your horse's name?" she asked. "Or is that a deeply personal question here in the Riddermark?"

"Firefoot," he responded, patting the beast's side. "Mine since he was a colt, he has seen me through much. And yours? I would think that it was one of the Mearas, but that cannot be possible."

"No, it is not of the Mearas. It is an Arabian white. Well, technically they're grays but I prefer white. Takes much too much time to explain to someone who does not understand horses."

"Arabian?"

"A distant land known for its beautiful horses. Mine was a gift from my father. My people were known as people of horses. I was practically born on one. Her name is Celebrían."

"You know Elvish?"

"No, I do not. My father recommended the name because of her color. The name means 'silver maiden.'" Bella gestured to the horse, as if giving evidence of how proper the name was. "Do you know Elvish?"

"No. But I have heard the legends and names of many elves. The name sounded as though it would be of an elf. She's magnificent," he said almost reverently.

"As is yours. I've never seen so powerful a steed." Celebrían bumped against her, pride slightly wounded. "Umaetkiya niye," she smiled, patting the horse's nose. Turning to look at Éomer, she found him watching her with a strange expression: curiosity, suspicion, amazement, and what looked like fear. "Are you alright?"

"You speak to your horse in a strange language." Well, he was blunt; she had to give him that.

"It is the language of my people. She only responds to that language." _And Latin_, she added to herself, _but I'm not going to try and explain that again._ "Do you and your people not speak your own language to your horses?" she asked, attempting to create some sort of similarity.

"Aye, that we do." He stopped before a large tent. "You shall sleep here tonight."

"And Celebrían? She doesn't take well to strangers." That was an understatement. Celebrían would raise hell whenever someone other than she or her father attempted to handle her. One time a man had ended up with broken ribs. "I would like to keep her close, if that is alright."

Éomer nodded. "Tether her to that tree there and she should not wander far." Bowing his head slightly, he continued walking through the camp.

"Thank you!" Bella called after him. He did not respond. "Cheerful fellow," she muttered to herself. _Oh, Dad, if you could see what a mess I've gotten myself into now._ "Hi, Celebrían. Istime." She tied the horse lightly to the tree just outside the tent. "Hemaca kanyela; itimahetaha tyobleca." Celebrían nodded, lay down, and began to sleep. "Istima wana," she whispered. Bella entered the tent, and was again struck by how roomy it was. "Definitely not like the one I'd be in back home." There was a pile of furs in one corner which she assumed to be the bed. To the left was a small, low wooden table on which she saw a myriad of papers. Approaching it she found maps of Middle Earth and what appeared to be letters. She knew it was wrong to rummage through people's personal effects, but she'd always been a tad nosy, so she pulled one of the letters out. It was addressed to Éomer. She was sleeping in Éomer's tent. "Why do I suddenly feel incredibly awkward?" she asked aloud.

She sat on the furs for a while, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and shaking it about her head. It was still damp, but felt more comfortable once free of the elastic. From her knapsack she pulled out the bottle of water and took a giant sip. _What I wouldn't give for a shot of bourbon_, she thought. Her mind wandered about in circles, attempting to grasp everything that had just happened. Suddenly, she heard Celebrían begin to whinny in slight distress. Grabbing her knife out of her boot holster, she left the tent and threw a warning shot, missing the man's face by inches. "Oi! Get away from her," she threatened, second knife in hand. The man turned, revealing the face of Gamling. "Oh," she said suddenly, stowing the knife away. "Sorry, Gamling. I didn't realize it was you."

"You are skilled with a knife, m'lady."

"How many times must I ask you not to use a title?" she smiled, slightly exasperated.

"My apologies. It is a custom here in Rohan."

"Old habits die hard, I understand."

"You do speak strangely, m-Bella."

She laughed. "Yes, perhaps I do. What's that you're holding?" She motioned toward a pile of cloth in his arms.

"Blankets for the horse. Not too friendly with strangers, is she?" he asked. Behind the jest there was a trace of serious worry.

"No," Bella smiled, "she's not. Okolakiciye," she said to the horse, motioning toward Gamling and raising her eyebrow, daring her to misbehave. Celebrían lay back down upon the ground, allowing Gamling to cover her with the blankets.

"You have a gift with horses," Gamling remarked.

"Only this one," she replied. Gamling bowed and turned to go. "Gamling!" he stopped and turned. "Where is Lord Éomer? I need to speak with him." _Oh God, I hope Gamling doesn't get any strange ideas._

If Gamling thought something strange about her request, he did not show it. "Over on the edge of the camp to your left. He's keeping watch."

"Thank you." He nodded and walked off to his own tent. The camp was quiet, asleep as she walked towards its end. There sat the Third Marshal of the Mark, staring broodingly out across the plain. "Lord Éomer?" His head twitched to the side, the only acknowledgement of her presence. Quietly and slowly she sat down beside him, gazing out upon the starlit plains. "What're you thinking about?" she asked.

"That is the sort of question a spy would ask," Éomer replied.

"You know, if you're so sure that I'm a spy, why don't you just dispatch of me already?" she retorted. "I mean, it'd save you a great deal of stress, you know. Besides, the whole 'we'll let you ride with us, but not trust you' act is really starting to annoy." Irritation colored the speech; the corners of Éomer's mouth twitched.

"Calm yourself; I don't think you're a spy."

"Sure have a funny way of showing it," Bella grumbled. "What happened to trust?" she asked, more to herself and the stars than to Éomer.

"It is forsaken in this land," his tone was grim. There were more unspoken words in that one sentence than Bella had ever heard. Her heart sank a little for the Rohan warrior. His plight made any problem of hers seem small and insignificant.

"My father used to tell me a poem, whenever I'd had a bad day. You know, when you feel that nothing is going your way?" Éomer said nothing, only gazed out, but she was certain he was listening. "At night he would sneak into my room, thinking me asleep, and always say the same thing. Perhaps he knew that I was always awake and merely pretending, but he had the grace and tact not to show it."

_The door opened slowly, quietly. "Bella?" her father's voice asked. She did not respond, merely concentrated on breathing evenly, her eyes shut. His soft and steady tread stopped and he sat lightly on the edge of her bed, his hand on her shoulder._

Bella missed him, and right now all she wanted was to hear his voice speak the words she now uttered:

"_Hanhepi iyuha mi ihanbla ohinni yelo_

_Òn sunkmanitutankapi hena,  
sunkawakanpi watogha hena,_

_oblaye t'ankapi oihankesni hena_

_T'at'epi kin asni kiyasni he  
akatanhanpi iwankal_

_Oblaye t'anka kin  
osicesni mitakuyepi òn_

_Makoce kin wakan  
Wakan Tanka kin òn_

_Miwicala ohinni - Hanhepi iyuha  
kici - Anpetu iyuha kici yelo_

_Mi yececa hehaka kin yelo, na  
ni yececa sunkmanitutankapi_

_kin ka mikaga wowasaka isom_

_Uncinpi tuweni nitaku keyas ta k'u_

_Unwakupi e'cela e wiconi  
wanji unmakainapi ta yelo_

_Anpetu waste e wan olowan  
le talowan winyan ta yelo_

_Unwanagi pi lel e nita it'okab o'ta ye_

_Untapi it'okab o'ta_

_Na e kte ena òn hanska ohakap  
ni itansni a'u nita ni ihanke yelo_."

Still Éomer sat silent. Bella turned to him, waiting for him to speak, yet he said nothing. She gave up and stood, preparing to return to her tent, his tent. _Yeah, that's still awkward_, she thought. She had walked only a few paces when she heard him ask, "What does it mean?" He had turned to look at her with tired eyes that had seen too much in too short a time.

"_I still dream every night  
Of them wolves, them mustangs, those endless prairies  
The restless winds over mountaintops  
The unspoilt frontier of my kith n'kin  
The hallowed land of the Great Spirit  
I still believe  
In every night  
In every day  
I am like the caribou  
And you like the wolves that make me stronger  
We never owed you anything  
Our only debt is one life for our Mother  
It was a good day to chant this song  
For Her_

_Our spirit was here long before you  
Long before us  
And long will it be after your pride brings you to your end."_

She could almost feel her father's hand upon her shoulder; hear his voice whispering softly into the night; sense his quiet tread leave her to sleep. The thought made Bella's voice catch in throat, but she pushed it back; she would not cry before this warrior of Rohan. "You love your land, and your king, even when it shuns you." Bella did not expect an answer, she was merely stating fact. "You are brave; why else would your men follow you?" she added, just for emphasis. Again she turned and began back towards the tent.

"Good night, m'lady," he called out.

She smiled, almost laughing in her own annoyance. _They never do learn, do they?_ "Don't expect me to call you, m'lord!" she shouted back at him. Because her back was turned, she did not see the half-smile that crossed the Horse Lord's face at her remark. Instead, she headed back to the tent, laying to rest beside Celebrían, her back against the horse's side. _Maybe I'll awake and find this was all just some crazy dream, _she thought. But in her heart, she really didn't want to.


	4. Chapter 4: The Rohirrim

She heard sounds about her; men packing up and moving about. Her neck was stiff and her lids heavy when she opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, Celebrían serving as her pillow, a blanket on top of her. _Funny_, she thought,_ I don't recall putting that on_. All around her the Rohirrim was preparing to move out. To her left, the place where Éomer's tent had been set up was empty, her knapsack and jacket lay beside her, the knives which she'd un-holstered in line on top of them. "Well, they certainly are efficient."

"M'lady!"

_Oh, enough with that already!_ "Yeah, what?" she said, more aggravation in her tone than she'd intended.

The warrior before her stopped, confused by her hostility. "Lord Éomer wants you at the front. We're ready to ride."

"Very well. Tell Lord Éomer that I'll be there shortly." He turned. "Oi! And pass it around: no more m'lady-ing or there'll be hell to pay!" Some of the men around her chuckled in what they clearly thought was a stealthy manner; she glowered fiercely at them. Celebrían was up, waiting for her saddle. Bella, once she'd fitted her, climbed atop the horse and nudged her forward at a quick trot. Éomer was ahead, speaking to Gamling, his horse's glossy coat gleaming dangerously. She approached cautiously, certain she was not meant to hear their counsel. Gamling turned his horse aside and rode toward the middle of the flank, giving Bella a nod as he passed. "You wished to see me?" she asked as Éomer donned his helmet.

"Yes," he said curtly. _Is he always in such a foul mood?_ He reached to the side of his horse and pulled out a sheathed sword in a rider's strap. "Keep this close. You'll need it if we cross any Uruk-Hai along the way." She nodded and set the strap in place. "I don't expect you to fight," he added.

"You don't, do you?"

"No. War and battles are for men. If we cross any Orcs or Uruks, you will ride to a safe distance. The sword is merely a precaution."

"I don't take orders from you."

"You will so long as you ride with this regiment."

"Where I come from, women are allowed to be masters of their own persons; that includes going to fight. My father skilled me in the arts of battle," anger and resentment flared in her mind. _Well, okay, that's partly true. I probably wouldn't last against a company of Uruk-Hai's_.

"This is not your country."

"No shit it's not. They're nothing alike. We're nothing alike." Éomer glared hard and turned his horse.

"Rohirrim! We ride north!" He whistled, urging Firefoot on and began the ride.

"Iyaya, Celebrían!" she cried following after the Horse Lord. Celebrían rode with fervor, glad to be stretching her legs after the night's rest. Also, Bella had the sneaking suspicion she was trying to prove her ability against Firefoot's. Clearly Bella's comment last night was still on her mind. The company rode through the day, rarely stopping but for short moments to water the horses. During these moments, Éomer remained silent and withdrawn, speaking only to Gamling, and only about the possible locations of Orc battalions. She did not mind; she was still irked by his comments from earlier and knew she'd only snap at him if they began to talk. During one of these short stops, Bella trotted over to Gamling before Éomer could intercept him. "Gamling!"

"M-Bella?"

"Wow, you're the only one who actually remembers that," she smiled. "I have a favor to ask of you." She saw Éomer getting closer and asked in a quieter voice, "Do you and your men spar at all?"

"Spar?" his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Aye, we do. But not of late as we must save our energy for riding."

Slightly crestfallen, Bella pushed the issue, "Do you think that perhaps tonight or tomorrow night, you'd be willing to spar with me?"

"Me? Spar with you? M-Bella, that's hardly appropriate! A maiden does not spar with the men."

"Save me the chauvinistic bullshit." Gamling did not understand the word 'chauvinistic,' but certainly understood the more colorful of her language. His mouth opened in shock that a woman would use such words. "Sorry, I'm just frustrated. I need an outlet for my energy and riding a horse all day does not help release tension."

Gamling smiled. "This wouldn't have to do with the argument you and Lord Éomer had this morning, would it?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Her mouth opened slightly, "How did you know?"

"Just because I'm not looking in your direction, doesn't mean I'm not listening. Besides, I think a good portion of the ranks heard your disagreement."

She bit her lip, "Well, damn! And here I thought I was being stealthy."

Éomer was only a few feet away. "I will teach you some sword-craft tonight, Bella, but only because I fear that you'd just keep asking soldiers until you found one who said aye."

"Am I that easy to read?" she asked, eyebrow arched playfully. Bella glanced back at Éomer, "I think he wants to speak with you." She turned Celebrían and trotted past Éomer, smugness lining her features.

The rest of the ride seemed to pass slowly in wake of her anticipation for the night's activity. In her head she reviewed all her fencing positions, offensive and defensive. The sword at her side bounced slightly against her leg, reminding her of its unfamiliarity. She'd always used a fencing foil; how useful would that be now? Finally, when the sun burned low in the sky and the first breath of twilight swept across the plains, Éomer called to break for the night. "Mak u wapi," she said to Celebrían, slight doubt in her voice. The horse placed her white forehead against her own, and then nudged her in the direction of Gamling. "Yeah, yeah. Scio." Picking up the sword Éomer had given her that morning, she walked toward the fire, where Gamling stood casually, sword in hand. "Let's get started."

"You say that you have some skill already. I wish to know the extent of that skill." Gamling got into position. "Don't worry; we don't need to go hard. Just show me what it is that you know."

"Alright, but I guarantee it won't be pretty." She'd finished fencing a few years ago and had no need to pick up a sword since. Pulling her new weapon from its sheath, she found it lighter than she'd expected, but still a good weight; nothing like the whip-like foils she'd used. She placed her feet apart and shifted her feet onto her front foot, raising her arms into the classic opening defensive position. Gamling watched her curiously and then attacked. He did not come too quickly, so she had time to parry and dance around him. Had he been going any faster, there's no way she could've blocked his attack._ Note to self: no more opening positions. Just forget them._ Again they set themselves up. This time Bella held the sword like Gamling did: in front of her with two hands. This time she engaged him first and began a simple combination that she'd learned in her lessons. He parried and blocked each stroke, but smiled in encouragement. When he struck back, she ducked and again danced around him swiftly.

A small crowd of soldiers had gathered around the two of them. Laughing and watching in amusement at the strange woman who was battling their commander's lieutenant. A few of the men had to admit, albeit silently to themselves, that the girl was not too bad. Bella and Gamling continued in this manner, merely playing and lightly engaging each other with simple sword combinations, followed by various parries and position changes. They had taken notice of their close audience, laughing with them, enjoying the entertainment they had created. They did not, however, notice when Éomer came over to see what the fuss was about, his hazel eyes flashing when he realized the cause of the excitement. His jaw flexed in annoyance at the sight of the girl fighting with Gamling. She was doing this deliberately to annoy him, to question his authority and he knew it. He was, in part, right: Bella indeed wanted to push the Horse Lord's buttons, but she did also wish to learn some of the Rohirrim's sword techniques.

A few minutes later, Bella and Gamling parted, having reached a consensus that it was time to stop. She smiled widely, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and spread her arms out, "Is there no one else?" she asked jokingly. The men of the Rohirrim laughed heartily, all except one. One stepped from the throng to stand before the girl. "Lord Éomer," she raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me?" her voice was thick with sarcasm and amusement. Éomer merely withdrew his sword from its hilt. "No armor," she said, nodding pointedly to the earth-colored plates which covered his clothing.

"A soldier must frequently engage an enemy who is better equipped than he," he responded coldly.

All amusement faded from her eyes, a hard, cruel look settling within their blue depths. Gamling stepped out, nervous at the Marshal's antagonistic position in the situation. After the disagreement between him and Bella that morning, this confrontation had no chance of ending well. "My lord, perhaps we should all retire for the night. We've ridden hard all day and in need of some rest."

"A soldier must fight past the pain and the weariness if he ever expects to survive a battle," Éomer spat menacingly.

"It's alright, Gamling," came Bella's own cruel voice, fury lacing her tone. It sent chills down the Rohirrim's spine. The anger of their leader, however, caused them to take a step back, enlarging the engagement area. None of them wanted to be in the way of the swinging swords.

Bella knew that fighting with Éomer would not be the fun, light-hearted activity it had been with Gamling. He would come fast and swing hard; he would want to break her. She had to stand her ground, be light on her feet, and reserve enough energy to break through his technique and superior skills. _Bring it_.

The two of them began to circle the perimeter of their small engagement area, like two feral cats waiting for a chance to pounce. Éomer moved first, coming at her like a charging horse, taking a swift swipe at her. Instinctively she ducked and rolled forward, pivoting in her crouch, swinging the sword to meet his next blow. The swords clashed loudly. The sound rang in Bella's ears as she quickly got up and returned to a safe distance away. The Horse Lord again began to circle the small arena. _Alright, _she thought to herself_, he'll want to attack again. Definitely one who prefers to be on the offensive; and he knows that he has the advantage over me. _She was right, for in the next second, Éomer attacked again, coming in hard and fast, sword flashing to the air in a combination of attacks that Bella felt lucky to have parried. She managed to block all the hits, but she was not as strong as he was and had less experience; he definitely had the upper hand.

When again they parted, Bella looked into the Horse Lord's eyes and what she saw made angry bile enter her throat and a swooping anger rise within her chest. His eyes glinted within a spark of satisfaction and condescending triumph. _He knows that he's going to win_. If there was one thing which always made her sick, it was a person who picked a fight because they knew they were going to win. The anger combined with the adrenaline which shot through her body, giving her a new energy; it was like being set alight, the fire burning wildly. She lunged at him before he had a chance to attack again, placing him immediately on the defensive. Recalling all she could from her advanced fencing class, in addition to some moves she'd learned from various other sources (films, books, sparring with Gamling, etc.), Bella launched into a complicated combination move which caused Éomer to back up under the weight of her attack. They whirled and lunged about each other in a never-ending stream of attacks and parries. After a few moments of hesitation, Éomer's pride began to dominate his actions and he began pushing her back, steadily sending her onto the defensive. But she fought on, refusing to back down or give up. _Not to him; never to him_.

Suddenly, he swung his sword with crippling force against her own, causing her to stagger back, losing her balance. She fell in a twisting motion, landing roughly on her face. She flipped onto her back, about to grab her weapon, and instead found a sword at her throat. Both of them were panting, she harder than him, but at least she had the satisfaction of having exerted him behind mere playful sparring. "This is why war is meant for men," he said in a low, rough voice. Bella fumed from her spot on the ground and, when Éomer had turned to walk away, quickly crouched and delivered him a low, swift spin-kick, sending him to the ground. In the next instant, she was pinning him down, a knife at his throat.

"And this is why men always die," she spat at him. Éomer said nothing, merely threw his head back at her, their skulls cracking against each other and throwing her back onto the ground. He had grabbed Bella's knife during this maneuver and while turning had slashed it against her face. A thin line now ran across her cheek, blood dripping from it slowly.

The Horse Lord approached her slowly, eyes flickering from her eyes to the wound and back again. He knelt down, his lips at her ear, "No; this is why you would die." Dropping the knife on the ground beside her, he turned and walked toward the parting soldiers, telling Gamling to, "patch her up" as he stalked off through the camp. No one said anything; there was no laughter or amusement in anyone's eyes. The soldiers of the Rohirrim stood in awe and fear of what they had just witnessed. Their leader had never partaken in any playful sparring with them, much less a woman; and they'd never seen a woman make the lord so angry; and never had that anger manifested itself in such a way. Nobody knew what to think, much less to say. All they did know was that they would avoid crossing Éomer for a few days.

Gamling approached Bella and offered her his hand. She shook her head and got herself up, brushing dirt and grime off of her clothes. Most of the anger had dimmed in her eyes and all she felt was slightly sore and defeated. "We should clean off your face, m-Bella."

"It's fine," she spoke brusquely, wiping the blood with the back of her hand. "Just a flesh wound," she added. Bella glanced into Gamling's eyes and asked, almost afraid of the answer. "How'd I do?"

He smiled kindly, reminding her strongly of her father. "Very well, Bella. You are quite a swordsman. Understand that m'lord has had much more—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know: experience. I'm going to go to sleep, wake me when we prepare to break camp in the morning." He bowed slightly, watching her walk off toward Celebrían. She patted the horse's nose and spoke to it again in that strange langue that he did not understand; finally she plopped down and turned on her side to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Fanghorn Forest

The former Third Marshal of the Mark sat by the fire, staring blankly into its depths. His mind twisted and whirled its way through the many of events of the past few days: his banishment, his cousin's death, finding the strangely-clad girl on the plains, their recent sparring match. When he'd dueled with her, her eyes had become blue fire, like a caged animal seeking revenge against its captor. It'd amused him. She had nearly embarrassed him with that last move, kicking him from behind. Of course she'd want to win and have the last laugh. Eomer's glower deepened.

Footsteps sounded from behind and Gamling came to sit beside him. "It's certainly been an interesting day," he remarked. The two of them were alone, what with the rest of the camp being asleep; Eomer knew Gamling had waited for this moment to speak to him. He grunted in reply. "Lord Eomer, if I might ask, why do you have the girl riding with us?"

"I cannot trust that she is not a spy for the Dark Lord."

"I think you and I can both agree that she is not."

"Can we?"

"Aye," he said simply, as if that settled the matter. "She's quite adept with the sword." Again, Eomer merely made a small sound of agreement. "Reminds me of Eowyn." That remark unhinged the Horse Lord slightly. The strings of his heart twinged slightly at the reference to his sister. His sister, who was now left alone to deal with the troubles in Edoras, to deal with that scum Wormtongue. His jaw flexed. "My lord?"

"I apologize, Gamling. My mind was elsewhere; what was it you were saying?"

Gamling eyes his captain shrewdly; it made Eomer slightly uncomfortable, as if his lieutenant could see straight through him. "Nothing, m'lord." With that he stood up and walked away, making sure the pass Bella. Seeing that she was breathing steadily, he entered his own tent in order to sleep himself.

Bella had heard the hushed voices and the steady footsteps of Gamling. She knew not of what he'd spoken with Eomer, but she had a feeling that she did not wish to know. _Dad, I wish you'd been here today; I wish you'd seen me fight. I fought with Eomer! Of all people, the character you'd liked most, other than Aragorn. I wish you were here. _A tear ghosted its way down her cheek. She sat up, brushing it away; off a ways she could see Eomer's back before the fire. Wishing to get as far away from him as she could, she walked silently and stealthily to the other end of the camp. There, she rested her head upon her knees and gazed out across the rocky terrain. She thought of her father, whom she missed more than anything in the world, more than being back home in her own world. _You'd love it here, Dad_, she thought.

"_I long to be like you,  
Lie cold in the ground like you.  
There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,  
I'm coming for you."_

It was all Bella could think of at the moment, wishing that her father were here, clutching her to his chest, smelling of horses, autumn air, and grapefruit. A soft wind suddenly blew against her face, drying the two lone tears which clung to her cheeks. She would have found it soothing, but for the sudden stench which trickled its way along breeze: filth and rot. Gagging slightly, Bella suddenly realized what it must be: Orcs. Without stopping to think, she ran forward, towards the foul smell. It was dark and she couldn't see too well, but she ran in a straight line, making it easy for her to run back. After a few minutes, she heard harsh voices arguing.

"I'm starving! We ain't 'ad nuthin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!"

"Yeah! Why can't we have some meat?!"

She slowed her footsteps, settling for stealth. She dropped to the ground and crawled silently towards the sounds. A large black mass was gathered around the edges of Fanghorn Forest. Uruk-Hai's and Orcs were surrounding two small, bound figures, arguing with each other. _That must be Merry and Pippin,_ she thought. _I need to tell the Rohirrim!_ Carefully she crawled back through her steps, eyes fixed upon the Orcs and Uruks, but they were still arguing with each other. When she'd judged that she was far enough away, Bella got up and sprinted back toward the Rohirrim camp.

Eomer continued brooding towards the fire, glaring at it as he had at the girl earlier today. She'd played a dangerous game attempting to stand up to him. She'd lost. But it had unnerved him slightly; no person, especially not a woman, had attempted to deliberately and blatantly disobey him. What had she said about her country? _Women are the masters of their own persons_. He huffed, "Well," he murmured, "she certainly learned not to challenge me again." He was attempting to assuage his slightly wounded pride, and even he knew it.

His confusion and minor wallowing was cut short by the sound of near-silent footsteps running in his direction. Hand already at the hilt of his sword, he whipped around to Bella sprinting straight at him. "Eomer!" she shouted breathlessly.

"Did you wander off on your own out there?" he demanded harshly. _What was she thinking?_

She doubled over, massaging a stitch in her side. "Yes, but this isn't the time for that! There are…Orcs!" she barely managed to get the last word out. But once he heard it, she saw him straighten up, immediately serious. "They're just on the edge of Fanghorn, not too far from here. I'm pretty damn sure that they didn't see or hear me."

"How did you find them?" he asked skeptically. _This could be a trap; maybe she is a spy after all._

"I was sitting on the other end of the camp and I smelled them. Rather rancid, aren't they? Not the point. Why are you still standing here? Shouldn't you be mustering the Rohirrim or something?" She was gazing at him in confusion and alarm due to his lack of immediate action. _Do something!_

Eomer took charge immediately, swiftly marching to Gamling's tent and having the camp awoken and equipped. Throwing back the flap to his tent, Eomer donned his helmet and mounted Firefoot. "Rohirrim," he said seriously, "we need to remain invisible until the last possible second. We have the advantage. Let's go." He said something in Rohirric and the company charged off.

At first Bella only watched. "Oh like hell they're leaving me behind," she grumbled. She gave a low whistle and Celebrian cantered up to her. "Unkis kicizapi Orcs," Bella told the horse as she mounted her. "Iyaya!" She dashed after the Rohirrim. _Damn,_ she thought, _I forgot to mention Merry and Pippin._ Suddenly the sounds of battle reached her and a scene of slaughter appeared. The Rohirrim had the advantage of the element of surprise and being on horseback.

She charged forward, cutting down a stray Orc in her path. Instead of continuing in the attack, Bella searched frantically through the dark for the two hobbits. _If they die, this whole story is utterly screwed._ Eventually all sound of battle ceased, the Uruks and Orcs lying dead; the putrid smell of death and rotting flesh reached her nostrils. She swallowed the bile that swelled up from her stomach. _Grit your teeth. You can handle this._ Again she searched among the corpses and found no sight of Merry or Pippin. _They must have escaped into Fanghorn. Oh wait,_ _that's what they're supposed to do. Alright, so, no worries._

"Bella?" Gamling's voice brought her sharply away from her thoughts.

_Aw, shit. Now I'm going to get a lecture. Really, I'm not in the mood for this._ "Yeah, it's me."

"Bella, are you insane?" Gamling's voice was low and urgent. "Are you deliberately trying to goad Lord Eomer to the point of executing you?"

"Maybe," she replied stubbornly.

"Pile the bodies then set them alight!" Eomer ordered, wrenching his spear out of the chest of a slain Uruk. He looked up and his eyes slid right past Gamling to stare angrily at Bella. He led Firefoot over to her, gripped her arm and growled, "I thought I told you to stay behind!"

"Actually, you didn't! You didn't think that I'd let you just leave me behind in the camp, did you?"

"Yes, I did! I ordered you to—"

"Ordered me, my ass! I can take care of myself! And I didn't come charging in here just to defy you, because I know that that's what you're thinking. I came to help."

"The Rohirrim does not need the help of a woman."

Bella squared her shoulders and glared at Eomer. "Look, pal, I know you've got a serious macho complex going on here and that you think that just because you're the big, strong man and I'm the woman, that I'll just roll over and do whatever it is that you tell me. Well, I got some news for you: I'm not going to! You wouldn't have even known about these Uruks had I not discovered them. So a, 'Thanks for letting us rid our land of this filth' wouldn't hurt much. Besides, there's nothing you can do about this anyway! I fought. We won. It's over. Big frickin' deal! I only slayed one damn Orc in any case." She'd exhausted all her irritation by this point, and relaxed back into her saddle. "By the way, you're forehead's bleeding a little," she pointed out, nodding towards the red substance that was trickling down his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to help with the clean up."

Bella dismounted Celebrian and led her towards the other soldiers, who were busy piling the carcasses. _Of all the insufferable men, why did I have to end up travelling with this_ _one?_ Her thoughts continued along that path the whole time that she helped the others of the Rohirrim move the thick Uruk bodies. It was a laborious task, but it kept her hands busy so that they wouldn't do other things, like clock a good punch against Eomer's jaw. _Dad, I don't even think you'd be able to tolerate this guy's attitude._ Finally, when all the corpses had been made into a giant mound, a rider took a lit log from the fire and threw it onto the pile. Acrid smoke filled the air and Eomer mustered the riders to return to camp. Bella stayed near the back of the line, keeping as much distance between herself and Eomer as possible. As aggravated as she was with him, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty for getting up in his face. They were from two completely different worlds and she'd suddenly dropped into his, challenging everything he knew and believed in. _Damn. I'm gonna have to apologize_.


	6. Chapter 6: Apologizing

Once back at camp, the riders retired to their tents, sleep the only thing on their minds. Bella dismounted Celebrian, leading her towards the fire; she sat cross-legged in the soft grass. "Hemaca gnaye, Celebrian," she told the horse. The silver beast lay beside Bella and bumped her shoulder with her nose in worry. "Toka sni," she replied, soothing the animal. "Oyusi ke cate sice," Bella explained. Celebrian snorted and nodded in the direction of Eomer's tent, as if to say, _Just get it over with, maybe he'll apologize too._ "Iyectu." She gave the horse one last look before roller her eyes and, with a groan, getting to her feet. "Enaon," she ordered the horse sternly; it merely snorted. Cautiously she approached the tent. _Why can't they have doors so that I can knock?_ She stood outside the flap, unsure. _Do I just poke my head in, or what?_ "Lord Eomer?" she called quietly. _Okay. Louder._ "Lord Eomer?" her voice rose in volume slightly, it was now at about speaking level. When she again received no response, she tried a third time, "Oi, Eomer!" From behind, she heard Celebrian snort in amusement. "Inila," she chided the horse.

"Come," Eomer spoke from within his tent. Swallowing the slump in her throat—and probably a fraction of her pride along with it—she walked through the flap.

As nervous as Bella felt, she was never one to show it. She stomped through, putting on her best face of annoyance, saying, "About damn time you—" and stopped abruptly. Eomer was sitting at the small wooden table in his tent, in nothing but a pair of leather-looking pants. But that wasn't what stopped Bella in her tracks; it was that he held his head in his hands, almost as if he was going to cry. _Oh man, if he's shedding waterworks then I'm going to ditch right now and pretend that I never saw anything._

But Eomer was not crying, merely resting his head in hands out of frustration and general exhaustion. When he looked up and saw who his visitor was, he groaned, "What do you want?" As he said this, he threw on a tunic, covering his bare chest.

Although relieved to find that Eomer was not in some state of emotional distress—because she was honestly the wrong person to deal with such a problem—his reaction to her presence was not making her task any easier. "Look," she began, "I came to apologize. I know I'm not the easiest person to tolerate, and I_ know_ that you and I don't see eye to eye on some things." He threw her a disparaging look. "Alright, on pretty much anything," she backtracked. She exhaled quickly, realizing she'd been holding her breath. "I'm not really good at apologies, okay? So cut me a little slack." Eomer leaned back in the chair, waiting for her to continue. "You and I are from two very different worlds; we're bound to butt heads and disagree."

"Butt heads?" Eomer asked confusedly, unfamiliar with the slang term.

"Basically means to clash or argue. But, look, I just wanted to apologize for all the grief I've been giving you. I mean, you don't deserve it; well, actually, most of the time you do because you're just so utterly infuriating, what with your 'women are weak' views that you have."

Eomer smiled in amusement, "this is not the best apology."

Bella shrugged, "I told you I wasn't very good at them." She shut her eyes, collecting her thoughts. "The thing is, well, the thing is that you need to understand where I come from. My world treats men and women equally, or tries to at least. Women can do whatever they want, and they can most certainly fight when they wish. The men do not hold dominion over the women. Back home, my father taught me how to fight since I was six years old. I learned hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, archery, fighting on horseback, you get the picture. I mean, with the exception of spears, you name it and I have more than likely learned it. I concede that I am no master like you, but only due to lack of experience, not lack of will. I understand that you were mad at me when we sparred, granted, with a legitimate reason; I fought to prove myself, to prove that I was not some damsel in distress. I do not want to be treated like a child. I refuse to be treated like someone who is weak."

She stopped for the moment, gazing into the Horse Lord's eyes. Eomer was watching her intently; the torchlight threw shadows across his face, making it difficult for Bella to read. For several moments they remained in silence, broken only by the occasional flickering sound of the torch. Finally, Eomer leaned forward in his chair, "You indeed are strange, m'lady."

Her eyebrow arched and she smiled dangerously. "M'lady?"

Eomer laughed, something she'd never seen him do. "My apologies, _Bella_."

"And don't you forget it," she added jokingly, pretending to chide the Rohan warrior. "So does this mean that we shall make an attempt to better understand one another?"

Eomer nodded. "Apology accepted."

Bella smiled in relief. _Well, now, that wasn't too terrible._ "I think, perhaps, you should get some rest; you look about ready to keel over." Again her slang puzzled Eomer, as evident by his blank expression. "It means you look about ready to pass out. I shall see you tomorrow in the morning, then?"

"Yes, goodnight."

"Goodnight." She turned and exited the tent, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Bella was, without a doubt, the most peculiar woman he'd ever encountered. She both puzzled and fascinated him, but most of the time he found her utterly infuriating. Beneath that womanly exterior lay the heart of a man, no, even more, a warrior. She was a fighter, that much was certain. He removed his tunic and flopped down upon the furs which were his bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Bella took a deep breath of the night air once outside of the tent. _Well how do you like that? He actually is going to try; at least, we hope so. Dad, I take it back: I think you actually would like him in person. I suppose there had to be some reason that he was one of your favorites. By the way, if you can hear me, thanks for teaching me all that self-defense; majorly smart move._ She smiled.

_The sun was shining brightly that mid-afternoon. Bella faced her father, standing in the standing opening position for fencing; opposite her, her father was doing the same. He lunged at her quickly, swiping the air with the foil, but she ducked, somersaulted, and jabbed her father in the back. "Gotcha!" she cried in victorious delight._

_Her father laughed a deep laugh. "You're getting too good at this, kiddo."_

_"Or maybe you're just rusty," she teased, sticking her tongue out._

_"Rusty, eh? I don't know, I think I've still got some tricks up my sleeves."_

_"I don't know, Dad. I think you've met your match."_

_"Oh, really? You don't think I can surprise you?"_

_"That's right."_

_"Well, then, I think you should reach into my coat pocket."_

_"What are you on about?" Bella laughed._

_"Go on, look!" he insisted, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. Giving her father a fake sigh of exasperation, Bella came up to him and placed her hand in his right pocket. She felt a thin cord and pulled out an object. It was a pendant; a blue ceramic lustre disc held on a leather throng. The blue was clear and brilliant, like the sky. Bella looked up at her father, speechless. He laughed, "See? Told you that I could still surprise you. Happy birthday, kiddo," he said, pulling her in for a bear hug._

Bella fingered the pendant at her neck, smiling at the memory. "Oh, Dad," she whispered. _If you could only see me now. _Sighing contentedly to herself, she leant her back against Celebrian's sleeping body and stretched her feet out in front of her. The fire before her crackled low, smoldering a deep red and orange. Thinking only of what tomorrow would bring, she fell asleep beneath the smoke-covered stars.


	7. Chapter 7: A Man, an Elf, and a Dwarf

The next moment it seemed, Bella felt someone kick at her foot. "It is time to move out, Bella," came a gruff voice. Eomer.

"Mff, alright, alright," she groaned, "I'm moving." She heard him walk away, joining the myriad of other low voices. All around there was the rustle of tent fabric and the measured tread of horses. Opening her eyes, Bella found herself staring at a blood-red sunrise; dark purple clouds receded toward the horizon, the last bit of night hanging on to the wide expanse of the sky.

Gamling came up to her, carrying what looked like various earthen-colored plates in his arms. "I was just coming to awake you, but it appears there is no need." Grunting slightly, she placed the objects onto the ground at my feet. "These are for you; they will be slightly loose on you, as you are smaller than their previous owner."

It was Rohirric armor, just as the men around her wore. "These are really for me?" she asked, absolutely delighted.

"Aye. Now do not go getting all excited; Lord Eomer decided that you needed protection, considering your tendency to seek out dangerous situations."

Although she frowned momentarily at the explanation, she could not conceal her glee for long. "This was Lord Eomer's doing?"

"Aye, that it was. Though I had the pieces cleaned out for you; did not seem fitting that you go out in despoiled armor." Bella smiled, picking up one of the shoulder plates, and then launched herself at Gamling in a squeezing hug. He was taken aback for about a moment or so, but then awkwardly patted her back. She let go, sensing his embarrassment. "Well, you, you better put that on quickly so that we can move out," he said quickly, slightly breathless. Chuckling to himself, he turned and headed to the other end of the camp in order to mount his own horse.

Bella separated out the pieces, smiling widely at this unexpected gift. The smile soon faded when she realized that she had absolutely no clue as to how to put the entire set on. _Okay, Bella, think. If you were a male soldier fighting in a regiment of highly-trained Horse Lords in the fictional realm of a three-part epic, what would you put on first?_ "Damnit, c'mon," she muttered to herself. "There's got to be a clue to this contraption somewhere." So lost in thought was Bella, that she didn't notice the amused pair of hazel eyes that watched her intently as she circled round the armor several times. Finally, unable to stand much more of this private amusement, and because the Rohirrim needed to head out, Eomer cantered over to Bella.

"Would you like some help?" he asked, causing her to jump slightly in surprise.

"Please don't sneak up on me like that again," she laughed, though her hand was at her side, gripping the hilt of one of her knives. "I don't take well to being surprised. And as an answer to your question: yes, I would like some help. My people don't usually fight in full battle armor." _Not in this kind at least, but I don't think Kevlar will mean anything to him_.

"Your people are either very brave, or very foolish."

She shrugged, "Or just a combination of both. Now help me figure this out," she turned again to the armor on the ground. There was a thud as Eomer dismounted Firefoot and walked over to her.

"You'll have to put on the chainmail first and—"

"No way, no chainmail, I just know that I'd be in for some major chafing. And," she put up her hand to stop Eomer from voicing his own disagreement, "yes, I know it'll probably be safer; hell, it _is_ safer, I'm sure. But I cannot fight in the chain mail. I'll just have to do without it."

Eomer's jaw flexed as he restrained himself from knocking some sense into the girl. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Put on the arm and leg plates." She did as he said, albeit with a little difficulty. When she'd gotten them on and adjusted them as well as she could, she looked up at him expectantly. "Now the chest armor."

"Umm, yeah, that's not going to be easy with all this arm gear on," she remarked, twisting about uncomfortably.

"This armor is too big for you, that's why you are finding it difficult to maneuver. Here," he said, picking up the chest plate, "let me do it." Bella pulled her hair back as Eomer twisted his hands about her front, strapping the plates into place on her chest and back. She breathed in sharply when he adjusted them too tightly at first. When he'd finished, she dusted off the front and turned again to face him.

"Thank you," she shifted, uncomfortable, in the ill-fitting armor. "Well," she concluded, "it's better than nothing, right?"

Eomer only nodded curtly, "We are moving out. I suggest that you saddle your horse." He turned on his heel and re-mounted Firefoot, turned aside, and cantered in the opposite direction.

_That has got to be one of the irritable men I've ever met._ Saddling Celebrian, Bella had a bit of difficulty mounting her in the bulky plates, but got up nonetheless. Nudging the horse forward with a quick squeeze, she lifted her arms, pulling the elastic out of her hair. She shook her head, running her fingers through the wavy mess, allowing Celebrian to lead herself. Bella had just put her hair into a quick half-ponytail, when she realized that she was being watched. The Rohirrim was gazing in slight awe at the sight of her easily leading the horse along, reins in her lap. "Morning, boys," she said as she passed, picking up the reins as she did so. _Wonder what's got them all staring?_ she thought to herself.

She nudged Celebrian on a little faster, bringing her to a swift trot, and within a few seconds was at the front of the ranks beside Eomer. She turned to look at him and started laughing. Eomer's brow furrowed, "What is so amusing?"

"We match!" she replied with a giggle. Eomer too had pulled his wavy hair into a half-ponytail, though his hair didn't look half as frazzled as her own. Her giggles eventually subsided, Eomer merely continued to frown, placing his helm over the source of her amusement. _Well isn't he just a pocketful of sunshine? If this just has to do with me refusing to wear chainmail, then he needs to take a chill pill and lighten up._ Bella pushed back thegreat inclination to ask "What crawled up your ass and died?" Instead, she merely bit her lip and grimaced.

The Rohirrim rode north with Eomer, Bella, and Gamling at the head, none of them speaking. The silence was uncomfortable for two of the three; Bella continued mulling over her present predicament: how was she going to get back home? Or even more puzzling: why didn't she want to? Gamling rode in nervous quiet; the behavior of his captain and Bella confused and worried him. He had thought that their mutual antagonism might have subsided. When Eomer had brought him the armor for Bella, Gamling had smiled, hopeful that this was a good sign; and she had seemed really pleased. Now, nothing; just silence. The Horse Lord himself merely focused on the task at hand: finding and killing the Dark Lord's forces which were now ravaging his precious country.

The Rohirrim had ridden only about ten minutes when Bella heard a voice cry out, "Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?!" Immediately the company turned about, charging toward the source of the voice. Bella held Celebrian back slightly, keeping to the rear of the ranks. The riders were in a circle surrounding the visitor, spears drawn and lowered dangerously in that person's direction. _Gee, doesn't this look familiar_, thought Bella cynically.

"What business does a man, an elf, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" came Eomer's demanding voice.

_A man, an elf, and a dwarf? No, it couldn't possibility be…_ Bella craned her neck over and around the mass of soldiers, curiosity burning. Then she caught a glimpse of the trio through the helmets and spears. On the right end stood a worn, weather-beaten man with wet hair in filthy, dark clothing; on the left end stood a long-limbed blonde man who, even in stillness, exuded an aura of fluidity, but most noticeable was the point at the tip of his ears; and, finally, in between the two, at about the their hips, stood a wide, heavily bearded man who gripped his axe tightly. He spoke in a deep, rough voice, "Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give you mine." Bella had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle which attempted to escape her lips. _So typically Gimli,_ she thought.

Eomer dismounted and walked right up to the dwarf, gazing down at him harshly, "I would cut of your head, _dwarf_, if it stood but a little higher of the ground." Again Bella attempted to remain composed; the scene was just too hilarious._ Damn! They do some serious smack-talking here in Middle Earth! Gimli: 1; Eomer: 1._

All humor disappeared quickly when Legolas, in a blindingly quick and fluid movement, pulled an arrow out of his quiver, strung it across his bow, and pointed it directly between Eomer's eyes. "You would die before your stroke fell!" The Rohirrim closed in, bringing their spears closer to the three travelers. Eomer stood his ground, not even flinching, despite having an arrow in his face. Aragorn placed a hand on Legolas' arm, lowering his bow.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm." His voice was measured, calm, as he attempted to diffuse the tense atmosphere. "We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your King."

Bella sat on edge, heart beating frantically as nobody moved. _Oh God, please don't let Eomer realized I basically ripped off Aragorn's lines when I first met him._

Finally, Eomer let out a frustrated sigh, "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin," he responded, taking off his helmet as he said so.

Bella breathed a sigh of relief. _I can't believe I'm watching this happen. Seriously, I cannot believe this; there is no way I'm dreaming anymore. Wait a minute; didn't Eomer pull this exact same shtick when he met me?_

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands," Eomer further explained. "My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished."

Bella felt a twinge of pity for the Horse Lord; all he'd ever done was serve his country and his king, and for that he was expelled, on pain of death, by the very man he'd devoted his whole life to protecting. _That just sucks,_ Bella thought. It was a monumental understatement, but it was the best she could do.

Meanwhile, Eomer had moved closer to Aragorn, speaking in such a low voice that Bella had to lead Celebrian closer in order to hear. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets," his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he finished.

Bella couldn't help it: she rolled her eyes. _I swear, does he think anyone is anything but a spy?! I mean, okay, I understand that shit is happening and that the king is being manipulated, blah blah blah, but, honestly!_

"We are no spies," said Aragorn. "We track a party of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."

Eomer's face fell slightly as Aragorn spoke. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night," his voice was grave.

Legolas blanched slightly, disbelief and dismay touching his eyes. "But there were two Hobbits! Did you see two Hobbits with 'em?" Gimli demanded in a strangled voice.

"They would be small. Only children to your eyes," Aragorn continued, taking a small step toward Eomer. There was a note of desperation in his tone; he was hoping against hope that Merry and Pippin had survived.

Eomer shook his head sadly, shifting his stance, "We left none alive." Even to Bella, who knew that Merry and Pippin were alive and well, the words sounded unintentionally cold and empty. "We piled the carcasses and burned them," he finished, gesturing towards the small column of smoke behind him.

Gimli's mouth opened slightly, voice catching in his throat. "Dead?" Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder.

Eomer nodded, "I am sorry." His voice was tense, stiff.

Bella felt terrible: on one hand she wanted to comfort the three members of the Fellowship and tell them that Merry and Pippin were fine, merely in Fanghorn with Treebeard and the Ents; but she also knew that she could not interfere, even in the slightest, with the flow of what was to occur. She could possible unravel the very threads which held this world together. _No, it's okay_, her mental voice screamed,_ they're okay! They're fine!_ Turning to Eomer, she saw him looking at the ground, what looked like intense emotion raging behind the hazel irises. _What are you thinking?_ she wondered.

Suddenly Eomer whistled and called, "Hasufel! Arod!" He held out his left arm as two rider-less horses trotted over slowly. When they were close enough, he grabbed their bridles and gave them over to Aragorn. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters." He began to turn away and bade them a somber, "Farewell," as he re-donned his helmet. Legolas and Aragorn mere gazed at the ground. Once mounted upon Firefoot, Eomer said, "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope." He looked about the terrain briefly and said, as if more to himself than to the three men, "It has forsaken these lands." Again, Bella felt herself pitying the Horse Lord. "We ride north!" he shouted, turning Firefoot about and charging off.

Bella lingered in the back of the company, watching the three men who were not on horseback, and who looked as though they'd just watched their entire life meaning get blown to bits. Suddenly, Aragorn looked up into her eyes and, for the briefest of moments, Bella saw them widen in surprise. She realized she was not wearing a helmet, thus her difference in gender from the rest of the Rohirrim was blatantly obvious. Attempting to avoid any possible damage she might have done or could do to the story, she kicked against Celebrian, urging her swiftly forward to the front of the ranks. _They'll be fine_, she told herself._ You know they'll be fine. _And though she did, it didn't stop the sick feeling which lodged itself within her stomach.


	8. Author's Note

Just a quick Author's note: I was in such a hurry to get all these chapters up, that I forgot a bunch of things.

1)DISCLAIMER: I do not own THE LORD OF THE RINGS or any of the names, places, characters, etc. affiliated with it. That all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The only part of this story that I own is Bella, her father, Celebrian, and any other happenings from 'our' world.

2) Bella's name has nothing to do with Twilight. I just wanted to point that out right now. The derivation of her name, which a few of my close friends already know, will be mentioned in a later chapter.

3) I shall be attempting to follow a combination of both the books and the movies in this story. Certain elements from the films, which deviate from the novel, work better within my plotline. So, if something happens within the story that comes from the movies, but Bella references as something from the books, it's all just for the story.

4) I do not know the Lakota Sioux language. Honestly, I have no idea. I just thought that that would add a fun element to the character. The words I found on an online dictionary and I have basically been stringing them together. I shall most likely not be providing translations because mine are VERY loose. In addition, almost all of the Sioux dialogue is directed towards her horse; all meaning is relatively easy to guess in context of what is occurring.

5) The poem which Bella recites for Eomer in Chapter 3 comes from a song titled "Creek Mary's Blood" by Nightwish. In my story, they do not exist and this is a traditional poem. In addition, the lyrics referenced in Chapter 5 are from the song "Like You" by Evanescence.

6) Speaking of music, whenever I post later chapters in which lyrics or songs are involved, I shall do my best to remember not only to credit them, but to post links to performances of the tunes for better understanding of the happenings in the story. Music constantly influences me when I write, so there's always some song or so that has direct/indirect correlation to various scenes, etc.

7) I think that's all for now. I hope you enjoy this story! 


	9. Chapter 8: Wildmen

She battled with herself for about a solid thirty minutes before she decided to tell him. The Rohirrim was far enough away from the three members of the Fellowship that there was no chance Eomer would turn around, or worse, send her back. At least, that's what she was trying to convince herself. Not only that, she feared for the consequences of what she was about to tell him; would this ruin the outcome of the story? The company had stopped to get the horses some water. After stripping herself of her armor and placing it in a saddlebag, Bella led Celebrian over to where Eomer was patting Firefoot's side. "Eomer, there's something you should know." He looked up, saying nothing. "Those two hobbits that Aragorn spoke of, the ones with the Uruk-Hai—"

"What of them? They're dead now."

"Umm, no, they're not. I saw them last night. He was right; they did only look like children. I mean, even in the dark I knew that they weren't Orcs, so I made no move to slay them. Besides, their hands were bound, so I assumed that they were captives," she lied. Internally she was kicking herself for even bringing the subject up.

"Where are they now?" demanded Eomer fiercely.

"Well, they ran off…into Fanghorn Forest." _Technically I didn't actually see them run off, but that's what they're supposed to do._

"Then they are as good as dead in there," Eomer turned back to Firefoot, adjusting a saddle strap. She had turned to go, wondering if she had just done the right thing when he spoke again, "Why are you telling me this now? And, better yet, why did you not speak of this before?"

_Well, it's because you exist in a fictional realm of fantasy, therefore, if I did anything to possibly threaten the natural course of the novel, I could potentially destroy the very fabric of time here, thereby letting Sauron win; and I'm pretty sure nobody would be particularly happy about that._ "I did not think it best to offer false hope to those that were suffering," she lied coolly.

"False hope? Is that what you think that is?"

"Isn't it?" She really did not want to fight with Eomer about this, especially since it was all based upon a lie. "You just said yourself that they're as good as dead! Why offer them the possibility that their friends are alive, only for them to discover their corpses among the ferns of the forest? It's not fair to them!"

"Fair? Life is not fair, Bella! I know not what romantic inclinations and fantasies you have in that strange head of yours, but I will tell you something…" he was practically growling in his ferocity. And, for once, Bella felt almost afraid. She could not and would not fight with him, not about this; not about a lie. But Eomer did not shout, nor lecture, nor argue. In fact, he exhaled sharply and said, "That hope was probably the most dangerous information you had. You did the right thing in concealing it from those three."

Bella smiled in relief, "Thank you, Eomer."

He nodded curtly and mounted Firefoot. "Let's move out, men!"

_And he's back_. Celebrian looked pointedly at Bella. "Oh econ sni wayaka miye lecel! Niye slolye iye tawaci ablaze hemaca inahme takuni. Naku, iye sni lecel iye econsi miye akayake ektani na oyake hena. Iyepi nacece tokhel iyaya Fanghorn wana es es." The horse merely rolled its eyes and followed the Rohirrim. _Silly animal._ This ride, for Bella, was more pleasant than before, as the other men in the company had finally begun speaking to her comfortably, and without titles. They told her of their homes and families, what life was like growing up under King Théoden's rule. Then, of course, the conversation turned to more recent events and the darkness which had fallen over the Golden Hall. In particular, Saruman's allegiance with the armies of Mordor disturbed the men greatly.

She liked the men of the Rohirrim; they were all rough around the edges and really tough. _They're all so damn loyal, even after they've been banished. I would've said, 'Goodbye and good riddance' to this place._ Now Eomer's behavior began to make more sense. _I bet being banished was that same as having his heart ripped out of his chest. No wonder he's always so damn sullen. He'd probably love to ride away and never look back, but he loves this place too much. He can't leave; he can't abandon this place._ "Ugh, that is _so_ fucked up," Bella breathed aloud.

"Sorry?" asked the rider to her left.

"Nothing, sorry; I was just lost in my thoughts," she trailed off slightly, gazing beyond the plains before her. Then she shook her head slightly and turned again to the man beside her, "Sorry, again, what were you saying?"

The soldier opened his mouth to speak again, but a whistle sounded from the front of the group. Bella frowned, "What does that mean?"

"Lord Eomer has spotted something up ahead; we need to slow down in order to remain silent."

Bella smiled secretly down at Celebrian. _Yeah, but I don't_. Nudging Celebrian into a slight gallop, Bella quickly caught up with Eomer at the front. He frowned, "Did you not hear the order to slow down? You could give away our position!"

_And his mood just keeps getting better and better._ "Why don't you send me down there to take a look?"

"Out of the question!"

"But I found those Uruk-Hai last night without being caught."

"You had the night's cloak to hide you from their eyes and you were not riding a horse."

"You've never seen Celebrian run; and I mean _really_ run. She's wicked fast and dead silent. That's what always made her and me so dangerous: we could sneak up on anyone before the person even realized that they were being followed. Trust me," she urged, not blinking away from his hostility and incredulity.

"No, I will not permit you."

Her pride bristled at his words. "I was not asking for your permission," she seethed. "I was just kind of hoping for your support." Quickly, she turned Celebrian and galloped off towards the source of all the concern.

"What does she think she's doing?" Eomer gasped in alarm. But he dared not charge any closer to the figures in the distance; he could not needlessly threaten the lives of his men. _She's going to get herself killed_, he thought scathingly. _Or perhaps going to warn the Orcs_, his eyes narrowed into slits. He still did not totally trust this strange creature. She did not behave like any woman he'd ever met in Middle Earth, let alone Rohan; Eowyn seemed like the most proper of ladies against this girl.

Gamling was suddenly at his side, "What is she doing, m'lord?" His voice was terrified, saturated with fatherly-like concern.

"Getting herself killed is what she's doing," he spoke through gritted teeth. His anger simmered beneath the surface as he watched the horse and rider approach the great mass. Suddenly they stopped; the horse lay down, hiding itself in the tall stalks of the high plains. The girl slunk onto her stomach and crawled forward, keeping her head low. _Alright_, he admitted,_ she does know about stealth. But whomever or whatever those things are, they will hear her once she remounts the horse._ She lay still, watching, almost invisible when the wind blew the grass in the right direction. Then, she did something he did not expect: she stood up, chin thrust out defiantly, her hands near her hips. The horde quickly armed itself. "Those are not Orcs," Eomer realized suddenly. "Those are men." Without a second thought he charged after her, the Rohirrim close behind.

Bella looked into the eyes of the men before her. They were feral eyes, full of anger and ferocity. Dirty, matted hair clung to their brown faces; mud-soaked furs draped across their poor cloth. Before them, snarling dangerously, was a pair of pitch-black dogs. She kicked herself internally._ Dogs! Why didn't you think of dogs?! Why couldn't you just remember to look out for guards, both human and non-human?!_ _Go figure you get busted because of a pair of flea-bitten—_ Her mental rant was cut short when she felt the ground shaking slightly; from far-off she heard a slight rumble of thunder, growing louder and louder with each second. _About damn time!_

She smiled as the band of Wildmen stepped back slightly, terrified by the coming onslaught of riders. In a flash she'd thrown one of her knives into the nearest warrior, bringing him to the ground. A second knife in her hand, she reached down to grab the third from her boot just in time as an arrow grazed her arm. She let out a hiss of displeasure and discomfort, immediately throwing her knife into the chest of the Wildman with the crossbow. _Oh great, get your revenge on the guy with the bow, but now you only have one knife left. Nice work, Bella._

A bump to her back made her turn, knife at the ready. Celebrian stood with her side to Bella's face, the sword Eomer had given her, directly before her eyes. Without a thought she grabbed it, smacked the horse's side, signaling her to run, and turned again to face the Wildmen. She ran toward them—sword in one hand, knife in the other—brandishing her weapons, eyes flashing. The ground was shaking more intensely; she knew the Rohirrim was close now. The crowd of filthy men charged back at her, brandishing axes and swords, their mouths open, revealing blackened and missing teeth. Just as she had approached the first warrior, she ducked herself to the ground and somersaulted below him, turning just in time to slash him across the back. He fell forward, blood blossoming beneath his furs. Quickly she stood, driving the sword into his bleeding frame. Another warrior charged at her, swinging his axe wildly; she had barely enough time to bring her sword up, halting the strong swing of the weapon. In a whip-like motion, Bella twisted the weapons about, sending his axe to the side and her sword to his throat. Without even giving the action a second thought, she thrust the blade into his throat.

The Rohirrim had now arrived; spears, swords, and arrows moved in every direction. Bella bend her knees slightly, keeping herself light on her feet. Another Wildman was in her sights; but before she could run to engage him, a hand gripped her tunic from behind, lifting her up onto a saddle. The rider then turned away from the battle, leading her towards the silver form of Celebrian, who stood off aways, stamping her feet wildly in worry. "Go!" he shouted gruffly as they approached. She stood atop the saddle and jumped onto her own. Placing the knife back into its boot holster, she charged after the already retreating form of the rider. The glossy black steed rode fast, but she was able to catch up quickly. Eomer thrust his spear into the nearest Wildman, not even stopping to pick it back up. He unsheathed his sword, engaging the ruffians from above.

The battle was quick, short; in reality it was probably closer to a skirmish than a battle. None of the Rohirrim lost a man, though a few had received some wounds. As the men began to collect their used weapons, Bella found the bodies of the two Wildmen she'd killed with her knives. Unceremoniously, she dismounted Celebrian and ripped them out of the filthy corpses; just for emphasis, she spat upon their faces. She felt incredible; with her heart racing in her ears, breath coming out in slight pants, Bella felt as though she could slay Sauron himself. Gamling approached her, sighing in relief when he saw her face lit up in exultation and excitement; he'd been worried that she'd either become wounded or…no he didn't even want to think about it. There was no denying it: the girl was growing on him. "Are you alright, Bella?" he asked.

"Fine," she spoke breathlessly, the same smile on her face. Gamling smiled back, until he saw the blood trickling lightly down her arm.

"You've been wounded."

She looked down. "Oh yeah, I got nicked by an arrow; it's no big deal, probably just a scratch. I have some bandages and such in my pack. I'll wrap it up when we stop to break camp for the night."

"You should bandage it up now," said Gamling seriously. "Orcs and Uruks have a high sensitivity to blood, especially human blood; you'd give us away with an open wound."

_Wow. Well that's one I wouldn't have thought of. _"Okay, then I guess that I'm patching it up now." She reached into her knapsack and pulled out some gauze and athletic tape. Wrapping the flesh-colored fabrics around the wound, she noticed Gamling staring pointedly at her, or, more correctly, at the bandages. _Oh shit, they don't have athletic tape here. He's probably thinking it's some sort of witchcraft or magic._ "These are what we use for bandages in my country," she explained lamely. "We designed them to look like the skin so that the enemy would not realize out injuries."_ Which is absolute bullshit but I hope he doesn't realize that; though I feel like patting myself on the back because that was pretty damn good._

Gamling nodded, impressed, "Your people must be very good warriors."

Bella smiled, "Yes, we are. Though, I think you and the rest of the Rohirrim are some of the bravest men I've ever met." _Which is true._ She placed the tape back into her knapsack and mounted Celebrian. "Shall we join the rest of the men?" she asked Gamling with a smile.

He bowed his head, "After you, m-Bella."

She rode up with Gamling, the two of them flanking Eomer. He did not speak. "I didn't count on them having dogs," Bella said to the Horse Lord sheepishly. When he said nothing, she continued, "Your forehead is looking a lot better," nodding towards the gash which followed part of his hairline. It had healed well overnight, appearing more like the thin line she bore on her cheek; the result of their sparring match was fading into a scar. Still Eomer did not speak, merely gazed ahead as the Rohirrim resumed its ride. _I thought we'd gotten past this whole 'cold shoulder' deal._

"The Wildmen frequently keep dogs in their company when they leave the mountains," Eomer finally spoke.

"Oh," Bella replied lamely. _Thank you for failing to mention that little detail, Tolkien._

He let out a sigh of frustration, "You would not have known. I did not even realize they were Wildmen until they had armed themselves."

"Saruman's reach is far and wide, it would only make sense that he would employ all of the enemies of Rohan into his forces."

"What makes you think this was Saruman's doing? This could have been a random party."

"Because before those damn dogs gave me away, they were discussing what Saruman had charged them to do."

"They used Saruman's name?"

"Yes, of course they did! They said that they were to take back the lands which the 'Horsemen' stole from them and to burn every village."

Eomer's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with hazel fire. "That was not a random party of Wildmen."

Bella shook her head, "No; it was a war party."

"Well, at least, thanks to you, we now know who else seeks to destroy our lands; and next time, watch out for the dogs."

She glanced sideways at Eomer. "Next time? Are you telling me that I did a good job?" she asked, smiling slyly.

"Not at all; I am merely pointing out why your idiotic plan failed, which it was bound to do anyway."

"Uh-huh, sure you were," Bella retorted sarcastically, smiling to herself.

Although she could not see it; Gamling was sure that he noticed the corners of Eomer's mouth twitch slightly.


	10. Chapter 9: Helm's Deep

Over the next few days, Bella adapted herself quickly to the daily routine of riding with the Rohirrim. Gamling always made sure to speak to her for long periods of time during the rides; primarily they talked of Rohan and the happenings of Middle Earth, despite the fact that she knew most of the facts. It was, however, in the nuances of Rohirric culture that she became most interested. Gamling told her gladly and fully of what life was like in the Mark and what was expected of each man, woman, and child who dwelled within its territories. During the evenings, when the Rohirrim would stop to break camp, Gamling and Bella would spar playfully, under the watchful and distant eyes of Eomer. He had not attempted to spar with her since their last encounter, but he no longer frowned upon the practice.

It was several nights after their encounter with the members of the Fellowship, after one of her sparring matches with Gamling, that Bella saw it: a glimmer of light on the horizon, coming swiftly towards them. Squinting her eyes she saw a mane of pure white hair and the billow of a white cloak. _Gandalf_. "Eomer," she raised her voice so that he could hear her from within his tent, "there's a rider approaching; a white rider."

There was a bustle of movement behind the flap and Eomer exited, sword in hand. "Rohirrim! To arms! The White Wizard approaches!" Suddenly every man was running for sword, shield, spear; anything that they could get their hands on quickly. Bella merely snorted and made her way over to Celebrian, who was looking at her curiously. "Nilst," she said quietly, rolling her eyes. Without speaking, she began to re-saddle the horse, readying her for travel. Her insides squirmed slightly at the thought of what was to come. _Helm's Deep; the Battle of the Hornburg. I have to ride to war; I could get seriously injured, or worse. Well, if I had a 'bucket list,' this would definitely be one to check off of it._

None of the men noticed what she was doing in their rush to defend themselves against the approaching 'enemy.' The hoofbeats of the rider's horse became steadily louder and slower as Gandalf came closer. Bella turned to see the old man in his white cloak atop a majestic white steed. "Shadowfax," she breathed reverently. _The Lord of all the Maeras. Now there's a sight you don't see every day._

"Lord Eomer," he bellowed urgently. "Lower your weapons, there is no time for such foolishness!"

"Gandalf Greyham!" Eomer said in surprise, indeed lowering his sword. "What brings you here to Rohan; and to my company, no less?"

"Grave and urgent business," the wizard replied. "Saruman has set his forces against King Théoden. All of Isenguard has been emptied and marches upon Helm's Deep." Eomer's face went white at the news. "Your King needs you, Eomer," Gandalf's voice was calmer, almost persuasive.

Bella watched silently from her spot, waiting only for the moment when she would mount Celebrian and ride to battle. "C'mon, Eomer," she whispered urgently, knowing none could hear, "let's go!"

Eomer turned his head Southward where, Bella knew, he was imagining Helm's Deep before his eyes. "Rohirrim," he finally yelled, "we ride to Helm's Deep!" A cheer went up as the men moved about at a rapid pace, preparing themselves for battle. "Travel lightly!" he cried to his men. "Every man must have the strength to fight."

Bella had already strapped her armor on over her clothes and mounted Celebrian; she trotted over to where the wizard was waiting, watching the men impatiently. "How long ago did you ride from Edoras, Mithrandir?" she asked, using his Elvish name.

He turned to look at her, "Four days ago; we have till dawn to reach Helm's Deep."

She nodded understandingly. _The sun is just about to set, that gives us about_, she made a quick calculation in her head,_ maybe twelve or so hours to get there in time; and then we must also fight. He could've come a little sooner._ "How far are we from Helm's Deep anyway?" she wondered aloud.

"About half a day's hard ride," Eomer replied, trotting next to them atop Firefoot. He was intimidating in his full armor, eyes flashing dangerously as he thought of what they were about to do.

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed gravely, "and we must make it by dawn. The might of Isenguard will not long be held back." He turned pointedly to Bella, "A woman has never ridden as a member of the Rohirrim. What is your name?"

"Bella, Mithrandir."

"You are not Elvish," he stated.

"No, but your name has come to me in many different forms, Mithrandir being the most prominent."

The wizard eyed her shrewdly. "I can see," he said, "we shall have much to discuss after this battle is over, Bella."

She bowed her head slightly. _Perhaps, Gandalf, we may discuss the truth together one day, but, should we speak at all, I shall speak in lies and half-truths. _Eomer's whistle broke her concentration, signaling the beginning of the long ride south. The Rohirrim took off swiftly; Gandalf and Eomer leading the mass of riders. No one spoke on this ride; the land whipped by in a flurry as they rode off purposefully. They stopped for nothing, pushing the horses at breakneck speed across the plains.

Bella merely whispered to Celebrian, readying her for the battle, soothing any fears she might have. She was right behind Eomer, watching the hair from his helm fly back as he rode. On his left, Gandalf let his staff lead the men like a beacon in the dark of the night. The thundering of the horses seemed to beat in time with her own heart, which was pounding out a quick, heavy rhythm. Though the words of the novel appeared before her eyes—though she knew the battle to be a victory—she could not help feeling afraid. The fear coursed through her powerfully, making her more attuned to the sound of her own frantic heartbeat. It was like it was trying to get in as many beats as it could before it possibly stopped. _I could die_, was all she thought. _I could die._ But the thought of her possibly impending demise only spurred her on faster, harder. She wanted to meet that challenge; she wanted to defeat it.

Eomer thought of the men behind him; every one of them was willing to fight, willing to die for their king. He also thought of Bella; he would never willingly allow a woman to fight in battle. She could fight, he knew, but once the battle began, and she saw the blood and the death, she would not be able to handle it; she would flee. He had seen it happen to full-grown men, why should this stranger—this woman—be any different? But he had not the time now to send her back; he knew not where to send her. Glancing back momentarily at her, he could see her blue eyes blazing, not seeing anything that was before her. It was a look he knew and recognized; it was the look of someone out for blood. What it was that was driving her, he did not know; but under that look of hatred and determination, even he felt uncomfortable. Again he turned back to the darkness before him, ears acutely listening for any sound of battle; but there was only the sound of the wind rushing through his ears and the rumble of the horses as they galloped across the plains.

Bella didn't know for how long she'd kept Celebrian running at their blistering pace. "Mea culpa," she whispered to the horse; it was the best she could do. _We have to be getting close; my ass is starting to hurt_. Suddenly, from off in the distance, she heard a muffled roaring sound which rose over the gusting wind. It was metallic and harsh; a scraping of metal plates and the clashing of swords. Celebrian snorted; she could hear it too. Around her, the tension intensified as the sound made its way through the horde of soldiers. Several horses snorted in response; men shifted about in their saddles; grips on spears tightened. Bella herself felt her stomach jump into her throat; she had to swallow back the bile which was creeping up her throat. There were deep, guttural shouts, like those of a wild beast, echoing through the night.

Light began to creep its way up the horizon behind them, casting a red glow upon the wide expanse of earth. Up ahead, Bella could see where the steep hill dropped off; they were close now. A low, loud sound echoed off the rocks, assaulting the ears of the riders with its magnitude. "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand," she whispered, imagining the Gimli at the top of the immense stone tower, pressing his lips against the great black horn; Aragorn and Théoden charging through the once barricaded doors, crashing against a swell of heavily-armored Orcs and Uruks. _Fell deeds awake now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn._

She could have sworn she heard a cry of, "Forth Eorlingas!" from the mountain they were rapidly approaching. The riders began to slow, coming up in a trot behind Eomer, who slowed to ride behind Gandalf. The wizard stopped at the very edge of the rounded precipice, observing the scene below. Bella rode up beside Eomer, heart pounding against her ribs in anticipation. He stood still, watching Gandalf as Shadowfax reared, shining brightly in the dawn's light.

"Théoden, king, stands alone," the wizard said suddenly.

Eomer immediately rode up to join him, "Not alone." He drew out his sword, raising it high above his head, and shouting, "Rohirrim!" Bella, followed by the two-thousand other riders, approached behind him, now able to see over the cliff's edge. Below, it seemed as though Helm's Deep was being swallowed in a teeming sea of glittering black metal. The Deeping wall had been blasted apart, a gaping hole allowing the foul creatures through; King Théoden's soldiers were being pushed further and further inward, forming a small concentrated center.

Words sounded from deep within Bella's memory. _"Helm's Deep will never fall, so long as our men defend it. No enemy has ever breached the Deeping wall, or set foot inside the Hornburg." _Below her, in the midst of the horrifying mass, she saw several men on horses, battling their way along a wide, stone bridge. One, it seemed, had turned his face up to the Rohirrim, the sun's light glimmering off his golden helm and his drawn sword.

"TO THE KING!" Eomer shouted, throwing his arm forward, charging with Gandalf down the hill. Bella screamed with the rest of the Rohirrim and hurtled down the steep hill towards the swarm of Orcs and Uruks. As they dashed over the hill, Gandalf's staff seemed to let out a beam of light, which shone in the faces of the dark forces, driving them back in fright and pain; the full power of the sun's rays seemed to explode from over the hill, blinding them further, causing them to drop their weapons and shield their eyes.

Bella was closing in at breakneck speed, sword raised, screaming so loud that all other sound seemed to be drowned out; no thoughts crossed her mind as she focused on her first target. The sword slashed through the Uruk's neck with a sickening crunch; Celebrian jumped over the first few lines of Orcs, deep into the heart of the throng of vile creatures. She swung wildly about, crashing against sword, shield, helmet, and bone. _Breathe_, she told herself as the scene swirled swiftly about her_, just remember to keep breathing and don't lower your sword_. The fear of seeing the thick armor and broad shields of the Uruk-Hai disappeared when she suddenly thought of her father's face. She saw smiling at her the way he always did when she would stand against him, foil raised. With greater energy she flung herself into the battle, the pain of her father's loss driving her tirelessly on. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Eomer dealing deadly blows with his blade, Firefoot trampling those beneath him.

The Horse Lord took everything that had ever enraged him and brought it to the front of his mind; the loss of his parents, the death of Theodred, the sickness of the king, his banishment by Grima, and his sudden parting from Eowyn. All it burned before his eyes as he swung Gúthwinë with all the strength he could muster. A few yards to his left Eomer could see Bella hacking ferociously at the Uruks, black blood splattered all over her face. All the hatred that burned within him was reflected tenfold in her blazing eyes; she was out for blood, a creature of wrath and pain. She turned her horse to the side, taking another swipe at the closest Uruk, cutting off its head with a rapid swing. Her eyes glanced up at his, an unrecognizable creature looking out from within them; a creature that did not cease its slaughter for long.

Bella, in the chaos of the fight, found herself beside Eomer, killing wave after wave of the enemy until the waves began to lessen; the enemy began to retreat, to flee from the walls of Helm's Deep. "Victory!" cried Théoden. "We have victory!" A cheer went up from the soldiers of Rohan as they charged after the fleeing Uruks, killing any straggler who got in their way. She too charged after the black horde, letting the bloodlust rule, cutting down those in her path. Before her lay the encroaching edge of Fanghorn Forest, the leaves on the trees rustling in anticipation of the black horde which headed its way. Suddenly a rider cut off her path, forcing her to rein Celebrian in.

"Stay out of the forest!" Eomer shouted, riding up and down the line of soldiers. "Keep away from the trees!" He made his way back to her and turned Firefoot about, sword still drawn high. He and the rest of Rohan's forces watched as the last of the Uruks sprinted into the dark green woods, vanishing from their sight. The rage which had fueled Bella now began to dissipate, replaced by a powerful anticipation. A sick crunching and snapping sound reached her ears as the trees began to sway violently. Celebrian shifted restlessly as the Uruks screamed in pain and fear. Finally, once more, the forest was still and silent.

Nobody said anything for what, to Bella, felt like ages. An onslaught of emotions crashed over her. They had done it: they had defeated the forces of Isenguard and maintained their hold on Helm's Deep. Though she knew this was nowhere near the end of the war, a wide, exuberant smile lit up her blood-covered face as she turned to look at Eomer. His hazel eyes were shining as he gazed down at her. "Victory," she whispered.

_Sauron's wrath shall be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm's Deep is over; the battle for Middle Earth is about to begin._


	11. Chapter 10: The Old Black Rum

***AUTHOR'S NOTE: The song referenced here is "The Old Black Rum" as performed by Great Big Sea. The link below is them performing it live. I HIGHLY recommend listening to it while reading the portion where the song is present because it just adds so much to the scene. Oh, and you might need to skip about a minute through the video before the song starts because they do a bit of talking.***

http:// youtube . com / watch?v=MD0XihILQzk

sorry about the spaces--just remove them.

* * *

The Golden Hall at Edoras was more beautiful than Bella would have thought. Its majesty lay within the care which had gone into its construction and the view it offered—from every room—of the great realm of Rohan. Bella stood on the balcony of her chambers, feeling the wind whip her hair about her face. She felt as though she had just left Helm's Deep; when in reality it had been nearly a week. Éomer had ridden with a small group to Isenguard, returning with Merry and Pippin in tow. Bella had not gone with him, though she'd wanted to see Isenguard. Instead, she'd been ordered to stay behind and help Éowyn and the rest of the Rohirrim ride back to Edoras.

Bella was not particularly fond of Éowyn; there was haughtiness to her which Bella found uncomfortable. In addition, Éowyn had not taken kindly to the news that a woman had ridden into battle, while she had been forced to hide in the caves. As much as Bella had attempted to explain her situation and the strange events which had transpired, eventually leading to her riding as part of the Rohirrim, Éowyn had refused to hear any of it. It was not all animosity between them; Bella and Éowyn had found several things in common between them, though not enough to stop the private war which had arisen between them. Although Éowyn claimed to have the heart and spirit of a man, she still understood, respected, and even upheld the womanly traditions she had learned. Bella, on the other hand, openly flouted almost all of these codes, especially the ones pertaining to dress.

Théoden had announced that tonight a great feast was to be held in the honor of those who'd died during the battle. Éowyn immediately had gone to Bella, explaining that she would have to wear a dress for that night and that she'd be willing to lend her one of her own. Bella's response of, "I'd rather go stark naked," had not been well received. Éowyn had lectured her for a solid fifteen minutes before giving up, stalking out of Bella's quarters with a huff of frustration. Bella had thought nothing of the conversation. _I refuse to be dressed up like some show pony just so the men can ogle. I'm no court tease._ Right now she stood in the clothes she had worn when she'd first arrived in Middle Earth: jeans, tank-top, and her dad's jacket. The first thing she'd done in Edoras was find a way to wash off all the slime and blood which had clung to her like a second skin. _Note to self: help them invent running water and indoor plumbing._

Her eyes searched the wide plains, landing on the small stables which were adjacent to the Golden Hall. There, she knew, Celebrían was sleeping. The horse had been very pleased with herself after Helm's Deep, taking to holding her head up higher and attempting to walk with a more graceful, powerful step. Bella couldn't help but laugh when she'd first noticed, gaining a snort and a nudge from the horse. _I suppose I shall have to get dressed now, won't I?_ she grumbled to herself. Turning back inside, Bella had crossed the length of the room before she realized that the door to the hallway was wide open. _I thought I'd shut that._ Confused, she pushed the wooden door shut, spinning around to find that something had been placed on her bed.

It was a dress of a deep red material, spread out atop the bed with a gold sash beside it. "Éowyn," she muttered darkly. Despite her general aversion to finery, Bella picked up the garment, examining it; she had to admit that it was rather pretty. But she threw it back onto the bed anyway, opening the trunk at the foot of it. There she pulled out a dark blue, long-sleeved tunic; it had a high neck mandarin collar. _At least it has clasps,_ she thought. _Those will definitely remain undone. I hate it when shirts cling to my neck_. Swiftly she pulled her tank top over her head and threw it aside, replacing it with the tunic. It was a smooth, yet slightly textured fabric, which she immediately recognized as fine wool. Her father had had a shirt made of the same material. Next she pulled out a dark green vest-like garment. "Stylish," she remarked. _These actually have a name. What is it?_ When it finally came to her, she'd already donned the cloth and was stepping into a pair of black leather pants. "A jerkin! That's it." She gazed swiftly down at herself, "Huh, it's not too bad." Finally she pulled out a leather belt and a pair of boots.

Once completely dressed, she went over to the mirror which stood in one of the corners of the room. "Hmm," she said, looking herself over at different angles. "Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. But it does need something." Bella pulled her hair out of its elastic and shook it about her head, where it tumbled into well-formed waves. "Well that's a first. I guess it was a good idea to sleep with it in braids." Reaching through the open collar, she pulled out her pendant, letting it settle naturally against her chest. "There; I'd say that's as good as it's going to get." Smiling, she exited her room and followed the small crowd which was headed towards the throne room of Edoras.

There, she found men and women sitting about numerous long, wooden tables which had been placed all throughout the hall. The members of the Fellowship, along with Éowyn, sat at the very front of the hall; Théoden sat upon his throne; Éomer stood just off to the side of him. Bella moved her way through the crowd, squeezing herself in on the other side of Gimli. "Have I missed anything?" she asked in a low voice.

"Nuthin' yet, laddie," he answered. Then he turned up his eyes to look at her; they widened and he chuckled low. "I guess I mean lassie. What're you doin' in those breeches, Bella?"

"I'm allergic to dresses," she replied sarcastically, her face perfectly serious. Gimli looked at her in amazement. "I'm kidding!" she added, laughing quietly. "I prefer these—what did you call them?--breeches is all. Where I come from, women are allowed to wear trousers; in fact, you'd find more women in pants—that's our word for trousers or breeches—then you would in dresses." Gimli shook his head, shaking with quiet laughter.

Just as he did, Théoden rose from his seat and raised his hand, signaling for all sound in the hall to die down. Éowyn walked up to him, a chalice clasped in her hands. Bowing, she presented it silently to Théoden, who took it with a small smile. Once Éowyn had returned to her seat, Théoden looked out at the serious faces, raising the chalice before him. To Bella's right, Aragorn rose, his glass outstretched towards the king. The rest of the hall, including Bella, followed suit. "Tonight," Théoden said, "we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead."

Everyone in the room raised their glasses and said, "Hail!" downing their ale with the first toast. Bella took a hearty swig, enjoying the rich taste of the drink. _Well, it's no shot of bourbon, but it'll do._

The feast then began in full swing with food devouring most of the tables and conversation raging everywhere. At first, Bella merely mingled, silently observing the activity around her, as well as noting the puzzled looks of everyone at her unusual attire. _What? Have they never seen a woman in pants before? Well, actually, probably not._ Her eye was soon caught by the sight of Éomer, Legolas, and Gimli, surrounded by a group of men, at a small table of their own. Intrigued, she quickly made her way to the small troop of people. Gimli was seated, a full glass of ale before him. As she approached, Éomer handed a similarly filled one to Legolas. "No pauses; no spills."

"And no regurgitation," added Gimli gleefully.

"So, it's a drinking game," surmised Legolas in a wary voice.

Bella could not help herself, "If there's drinking games to be played, I am so in." All the men turned to stare at her in disbelief. _Do they not think a woman would want to play a game of "Piss Up" with them? Oh wait, that's right: the women here wouldn't._

"Lassie," said Gimli, "this is no proper sport for women."

She grinned deviously, "Oh really?"

"Aye, that it is."

"Alright then, Éomer, give me one of those."

"What?" Éomer looked almost ready to laugh he was so shocked.

"You heard me! Fill me up a glass before I do it myself. There'll be no stopping me, so don't even try." Her hand was outstretched toward him, waiting to receive a drink. He stared at her for a few minutes and then placed a full glass in her hands.

"You know the rules?"

"Éomer, I practically invented the drinking games in my hometown; no breaks, pauses, spills, regurgitation, or hiding it in your beard," she added with a smile at Gimli, who frowned slightly back.

But then his face broke into a smile. "Last one standing wins," Gimli said with a laugh.

Éomer put his hand on the table, "On my mark. Three, two, mark!" The moment the word left his lips, Gimli had begun to greedily slurp down his drink. Legolas sniffed his momentarily before more gracefully draining his own cup. Bella put her lips to her drink and steadily swallowed it down. Reaching her hand out for a second cup, she saw Gimli downing a fifth, Legolas still finishing his first. _Oh Gimli, what a hangover you shall have tomorrow_, she laughed to herself. In one smooth swipe she'd drained her second glass and reached for a third.

As she downed glass after glass, she heard from behind her the voices of their audience placing bets on the winner. She gathered that Gimli was the heavy favorite, with a few hedging their bets towards Legolas. No one, it seemed, thought she'd have the stomach or power to defeat the two men. _Ha! Yeah, that might be the case if I hadn't been the queen of drinking games back home. Besides, I've played worse games with much stronger stuff than this._ As she grabbed another drink, she again looked over at her competition. Legolas was reaching over for his ninth drink; Gimli sat behind about twenty empty glasses and was accepting another one from Éomer's hand. Once he'd taken hold of it, he laughed heartily.

"Ah, it's the dwarves that go swimmin' with little, hairy women! Ha ha ha!" His cheeks were turning red, his eyes twinkling, and his mouth turned up in a wide smile. Bella almost choked on her drink from laughing.

As she reached for what she guessed to be about her twentieth drink, she saw Legolas pause, gazing at his fingers in confusion and slight worry. "I feel something," he said, words starting to slur. Éomer's eyebrows raised in question, his mouth twitching. "A slight tingle in my fingers," Legolas continued. "I think it's affecting me," he concluded, turning to look at Bella with wide eyes.

There was a clink as Gimli placed his latest empty glass on the table forcefully, laughter shaking his frame. "He he he, what did I say? He can't hold his liquor." Suddenly, his eyes crossed and he fell backwards with a _thump_, completely unconscious.

"One down," Bella said with a smile. She reached out to take her next drink. "C'mon, Legolas!" she urged with a laugh. The elf smiled weakly back, his eyes slightly glazed over. The group around the competitors had gotten larger and more tightly packed together. The men all urged Legolas on, waiting to see how much more the strange woman could take before she surrendered. Bella merely kept drinking at her steady pace, never looking over at the elf beside her. At one point her eyes strayed to Éomer, whose own eyes were flickering between the glasses in front of her and her own person, completely bewildered. _Ha! He thought I was some kind of lightweight._ Her smile widened. Finally, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Legolas sway forward, plunking onto the bench. His face held a tinge of green and he mumbled something about feeling sick. Bella took one last giant swig, slammed the glass onto the table, raised her arms high over her head, and whooped out in victory. Her pile of glasses was greater than Legolas' and as large as, if not greater, than Gimli's.

The men around her cheered, laughing heartily at what they'd just witnessed. Bella, caught up in the excitement, jumped up onto the nearest table and again cheered out in celebration. Merry and Pippin jumped up onto the table with her, each holding mugs of their own and laughing merrily. "Ah, your ale's got nothin' on the old black rum back home!" Bella shouted, holding her side because she was laughing so hard.

Merry looked up at her, "What's this 'old black rum' you talk of?"

"The old black rum is what we call 'The Devil's Spit' and that'll knock you clear off your feet and on your back before you can say hobbit!" The crowd around her laughed. "In fact, it is so dangerous, that we had a song we would sing, warning people to beware of the old black rum." There was more laughter.

Merry and Pippin began to shout, encouraging her, "Sing us the song! Tell us the song!"

Dramatically, Bella put up her hands. "Alright, I'll tell you. I'll tell you. But, you'll have to join in when you hear a part that repeats. You got it?" Merry and Pippin cheered, the men on the ground raised their glasses, laughing in agreement. "Okay then." Bella cleared her throat and began, a wide smile on her face,

"_And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day?  
Hey…!"_

She held out that note, motioning to Merry and Pippin to join in. They did so with huge smiles on their faces. She repeated the chorus again, getting the men around her to sing along with her. Then, she launched into the first verse,

"_I drank 16 doubles for the price of one  
Tryin' to find the courage to talk to the one  
I asked her for a dance, not a second glance  
My night had just begun_

_Well I'd drink to the father or the holy ghost  
Kneeling at the altar of my nightly post  
And so I'll raise a glass, not the first nor last  
Come join me in this toast_."

Merry and Pippin began to dance about the table as the chorus began men around the table clapped along in time with the natural beat of the song. 

"_Because the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day  
Hey, will I live for another day?_"

From within the crowd came the sounds of a drummer, improvising an infectious combination of beats to the song. The amount of people about the table began to increase, as more in the hall came to see what all the laughing and commotion was about. Bella laughed out in exultation, loving the spectacle she had created.

_  
_"_The Queen of George Street is just walkin' by  
Walkin' on by with some guy who don't care  
That she stood in line since half past nine  
And spent three hours on her hair_

_Her friend is lookin' at me with an evil grin  
I think a bloody racket might soon begin  
I must have said something to the George Street Queen  
And now the boys are joining in._"

The sounds of a fiddle appeared next, playing around the melody which Bella was singing. _God I love Middle Earth musicians,_ she thought joyfully. She began to dance around the table with Merry and Pippin, swinging about in circles jig-style.

"_Because the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day  
Hey, will I live for another day?_"

Bella turned in the direction of the fiddle player and shouted out, "Play the fiddle! Play the fiddle out!" She gestured the man up onto the table; he sprang up quickly and launched into a fun, dancing solo, which kept Bella, Merry, and Pippin spinning about ecstatically. The drummer continued his beat which was getting more and more complex and daring as the song continued. When the fiddle player stepped down, the signal for her to continue, Bella turned to the crowd and yelled, "Sing it! Sing it with me!" She motioned with her hands wildly and the crowd began to sing with her,

"_Because the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day  
Hey, will I live for another day?_"

Bella gave the crowd a thumbs-up and motioned to the fiddle to take it down slightly as she turned to the next verse.

"_So I drank all of my money and I slept out in the rain  
Every day is different, but the nights are all the same  
You never see the sun on the old black rum  
And I know I'm gonna do it again! _

_Because the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day  
Hey, will I live for another day?_"

Yet again she turned to the crowd, her eyes landing on Éomer, who was leaning his arm up against a wooden column, astonishment lining all his features. Raising her hands up encouragingly, she shouted to the crowd, "You sing one! You sing one! C'mon!" Merry and Pippin began to lead the large, clapping group around the table in the rousing chorus.

"_Because the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day?"_

Bella clapped and stomped throughout, her eyes closed as she laughed. Then she joined in to help finish the chorus.

"_Hey! Will I live for another day?"_

She held out her hands and shouted, "One more, alright? Just one more! Let's go!" Then she resumed her dancing with the two hobbits.

"_Because the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Like a dog wrapped 'round my leg  
And the old black rum's got a hold on me  
Will I live for another day  
Hey! Will I live for another day?  
Hey! Will I live for another day?"_

She lowered her hands, to quiet down the crowd and the musicians as she ended the piece.

"_And I drank 16 doubles for the price of one…"_

The drummer rolled on her last note as the throng of men whooped and cheered. Bella bowed, smiling breathlessly. Merry and Pippin, glasses of ale in hand, hugged her midriff from both sides, laughing hysterically. When they let go, Pippin looked up at her and said, "Are you sure you aren't part hobbit?"

She laughed, "I'm pretty damn sure."

"Well," said Merry, "I think you'll have to teach us some of those tunes that you know!"

"No problem, boys! Now I think it's high time that you two entertained us with some of your own songs!" The hobbits laughed and began whispering excitedly to each other. Bella walked over to the edge of the table and looked for a way to get down. "Oi! Do you all mind moving just a bit to the side here?" A small opening appeared and she jumped down, almost losing her balance. A hand shot out and helped to steady her. "Thanks, mate," she said, looking up into a pair of hazel eyes. When Éomer let go, Bella grabbed an ale from off the table. "Cheers," she toasted him slightly and then sauntered off in the other direction, taking a hearty swig. Before her was a throng of women, watching the men who had crowded round the table she'd just been on. Every one of them was eyeing her darkly, as if she had just committed some great, unforgiveable sin. Mockingly, she raised her glass to them with an, "Evenin', ladies," and strolled off toward the open doors of the hall.


	12. Chapter 11: Becoming Friends

The night air was still, the sky and stars dark. It was almost eerily quiet. She took another sip of her drink thoughtfully. _Dad, I think you would've liked to have seen what I just did. You would've laughed yourself silly. By the way, their ale's got nothing on that shit you were always drinking._ Bella sighed, looking out across the empty plains. _Oh, Dad, what am I going to do? I don't belong here and everyone knows it. But I don't want to leave. I don't want to go back home. What should I do?_ A gentle breeze blew across the hushed landscape, blowing her hair about her face and sending a slight chill down her spine. _Alright, time to go back inside and shock some more people._ She smiled to herself, snickering into her drink as she swilled the last of its contents. _At least I didn't show them how we dance at parties back home._ The thought of their faces at seeing this made her laugh outright. Chuckling to herself, she re-entered the Golden Hall.

Merry and Pippin were entertaining the guests as they sang and danced to the tune of _"The Green Dragon." _Bella placed the empty mug on the table and leaned against a wooden column, far in the back of the room, watching the hobbits. _And their adventure has only just begun._

"I have never seen a woman out-drink two full-grown men before," spoke a gruff voice from behind her. Eomer moved from out of some shadows behind her, a smile on his face. "I will not lie: it was most amusing to see the elf's reaction." The smile deepened.

Understanding dawned. "So that's why you encouraged that contest," Bella laughed. "You wanted to get Legolas totally hammered!"

"I did not draw a weapon upon the elf."

"No, no. 'Hammered' is slang for really, really drunk." He nodded in understanding. "That is it, isn't it?" she laughed.

Eomer shrugged, "Perhaps."

Bella smacked him on the arm playfully, "You," she said, pointing a finger at him, "are devious and sneaky, oh most noble Third Marshal of the Mark." Eomer shrugged and laughed heartily; Bella had never seen him in such a good mood. _About time he pulled that rod out of his ass. Give a bet that by tomorrow he'll be sullen again. _

"Who taught you how to drink?"

"My father did. He always said that a woman should be able to drink like the men, especially if she goes drinking with the men. Which I did," she laughed, "frequently." Eomer's eyes widened. "All my friends back home were guys; I just fit in better there." He nodded, eyes still wider than usual. "Well there's no need to look so shocked," Bella quipped. "I mean, you were around me all day, every day, for over a week."

"Yes, with you infuriating me the entire way," Eomer replied.

"Well, you weren't exactly a ray of sunshine yourself. You're lucky: I really just wanted to clock you most of the time."

"Clock me?"

"Throw a punch at your face." Eomer's lips parted, eyes locking with hers. "Eh, it's alright," she continued, "I'm apparently over my violent aversion to your views. I have pretty much accepted that you're just hopeless."

Eomer frowned, turning to watch the two hobbits, avoiding Bella's gaze. He was frustrated by this girl. She was too straightforward; so straightforward that she confused him most of the time.

"Eomer?"

He turned to look at Bella; her gaze was probing, yet there was a look of wistfulness within the depths of the light eyes. "Yes?" he asked, wondering what could be causing her to look almost sad.

"You're not going to be like this tomorrow, are you?" she asked with a small sigh.

"Like this?" he did not understand. He wondered if maybe the ale was catching up with him, or her.

"All, you know, open and fun instead of a sullen pain in my ass."

"I think you've had a bit too much to drink." _Or perhaps I have._

"Maybe, but that's not the point!" she closed her eyes, frustrated, trying to combine her thoughts into coherent words. "I mean, you're actually not that bad when you're all, like, slightly inebriated and watching me drink with the guys. But, most of the time, it's like a smile is some foreign concept to you! I mean, you're sullen, grave, cantankerous, and incredibly judgmental, especially of me. So, what I want to know is if all this," she gestured toward him in a circular motion, "is going to be gone tomorrow."

Eomer looked into Bella's eyes, trying to find even a hint of dishonesty behind them; but they were clear and true, staring at him so directly and defiantly, that he felt she could see into his very soul. Then, he realized: she was right_. Look at me now_, he thought. _I cannot even trust this woman who told us of the Uruk party; who rode and fought beside me at Helm's Deep; this woman who never ceases to shock me._ He shook his head internally. _Dancing on the table and singing pub songs; and not just singing them, but leading the men—my Rohirrim!—in them. And that drinking contest._ He did not know whether he wanted to laugh or groan at the thought of that. But right now he felt more compatible with this girl—who wore men's livery, shocked the ladies of the court, and impressed every man in the room—than he had ever felt with anyone. In her usual upfront way, she had hit the mark accurately, perfectly, even though he did not wish to admit it, even to himself.

Bella was looking at him expectantly, still awaiting an answer. _Maybe_, she thought glumly, _it is too much to ask. You k now his character: he's always intense and focused. Hell, it's probably easier to get Legolas drunk than it is to get Eomer to be your friend. Oh wait: we've already done that!_ She laughed quietly, albeit bitterly, to herself.

"What is funny?" asked Eomer confused. He had been about to answer her question, but her sudden reaction had left him puzzled.

"That of all the men here, I had to want the most stubborn, pig-headed one to be my friend." She laughed again, frustrated with herself as much as him. Her head was starting to feel a little heavy. _Okay, I think the ale is starting to catch up. Ugh, and I forgot to put any Ibuprofen in my pack. _"Well, since you clearly don't want to be friends, and because I am tired, I will say goodnight, Eomer," her words were beginning to slur a little and all she wanted was to put ice on her head. But she would not show any weakness, especially since she made such a big deal about being able to drink like the men. Bella gave a slight bow, internally wincing as the pressure in her head began to build, and turned to leave.

She had only walked a few paces when she heard Eomer's voice behind her, "Alright."

Bella whipped back around, "What was that?"

Eomer stepped towards her, "I said, 'alright,' we can be friends." He held out his hand to her expectantly.

She shook it happily, "Excellent. Now, seriously, I will go to bed." Smacking his shoulder comradely and left the crowded throne room, leaving Eomer smiling knowingly in her wake. Weaving her way along the hall to her quarters, Bella stopped frequently to press her head against the cool stone. _Note to self: next you play 'Piss Up,' do not attempt to out-drink the dwarf._ Her mind jumped about from thought to thought in uneven patterns as she eventually found the door to her chambers. _Alright, headache and hangover aside, tonight was the most fun I've had in a long time._ She smiled remembering Eomer's face during her performances, both at the table and on it.

Her own room had a lone torch burning on the wall. Not even bothering to undress or blow out the light source, Bella flopped onto the bed, burying her head in the cold pillows, savoring the relief they gave her heavy head. _Ibuprofen, Ibuprofen, where the fuck art thou, Ibuprofen? I'm sure Shakespeare would love my words. _Groaning, she pressed her fingers up against the pressure points on her head, dulling the pain, and eventually fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 12: The Palantir

***Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who has read and commented on this story; you keep me motivated by delightfully feeding my ego! :) Just kidding; but seriously I thank all of you who commented so far. A very special thanks goes to AlleatoryMadness for telling m that aspirin is derived from willow trees. I never would have known that!***

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Bella awoke to a sudden commotion; someone down the hall was screaming in terror. "Pippin?! Help! Gandalf, help!" She bolted out of bed and sprinted out of the room, nearly taking down Legolas and Aragorn in her haste. They ran a mere step behind her as she threw open the doors and raced into the wizard's quarters.

A horrible sight met her eyes: Pippin was on the ground, contorted in an unnatural position; his back arched dangerously, an unspoken cry of pain formed on his open lips. In his hands he held a glass ball; it glowed internally with a ring of flame, a great eye looking out from its depths. _The Palantir_, she thought. Sauron's eye looked furiously about the room. _No, no, he cannot see me! He cannot get inside my head!_ Bella's blue eyes widened in horror, transfixed by the fiery slit of a pupil which gazed out searchingly from within the heart of glass ball.

"Someone help him!" Merry cried out in dismay. Gandalf was in the midst of throwing off his gray blankets when Aragorn pushed Bella aside, grabbing the Palantir out of Pippin's grip. Immediately he went limp and would have crumpled to the ground had Legolas not caught him by the shoulders. The accursed orb slipped from his grasp and rolled across the floor, Sauron's eye still visibly searching about the room until it landed upon Bella's eyes. The fiery one stared down the blue pair; Bella began to shake slightly, her breaths coming out in short gasps.

Gandalf quickly covered it with one of the blankets within which he'd been entangled and rounded on Pippin. "Fool of a Took!" he cried. However, his features immediately became stricken at the sight of the still figure of Pippin; the hobbit's eyes were open wide with fear, blank, and unmoving. It seemed as though no breath escaped his lips and his limbs were frozen in their current position. The wizard bent over the immobile hobbit, placing a hand upon his forehead, whispering words in an ancient tongue.

Bella watched the scene but did not see it; she was staring at the pile of cloth which hid the Palantir from the rest of the room. An eye—lidless and wreathed in flame—still obscured her vision. As if diving into a tunnel, the ghosted image of the slitted pupil seemed to get larger, sucking her in. _A dark, lonely road; the screeching of tires; a white tree, burning to the ground; the snarl of an engine; shouts and the clanging of swords; a long, drawn-out electronic beeping; a menacing voice which echoed through her brain_. She heard the terrible whisper in her head. _"You cannot hide. I see you. Who are you?"_

The floor swirled before her, lurching forward with sudden speed, stopping a few mere feet from her nose. A pair of strong arms had picked her up, steadying her onto her feet.A voice began to break though the resounding whisper, "Bella? Bella? Are you alright?" Blue eyes were staring into her own; they were old, wise: Gandalf. The wizard had left Pippin's side and was rubbing her hands, saying something she did not understand. "Bella?" his voice was still worried.

"Is Pippin alright?" she asked mechanically.

"Yes, he's fine," Gandalf replied. Bella nodded, but did not speak. Everything was coming into sharp focus. "Did you see anything?" he asked urgently, his hands holding her shoulders in a vice grip.

"The eye, it—he…I saw him; he was staring at me, trying to get inside my head. I could hear whispering, heard his voice. I—" her voice caught in her throat. "He didn't see anything; he doesn't know…"

Gandalf relaxed his grip, breath coming out in a sigh of relief. There was a bang as the door swung open again. Eomer and Théoden came rushing in, stopping as they took in the scene before them. "Théoden," Gandalf spoke quickly, "we must speak in the throne room. Make sure no one shall disturb us there." Théoden turned to Eomer, ready to send him off on the errand when Gandalf spoke again, "No; Eomer shall take Bella back to her quarters and stay there with her."

"I can take care of my—" Bella began weakly, but Gandalf silenced her with a shake of his head.

"You gazed into Sauron's eye and felt his presence without having any physical contact with the Palantir; you shall not be left alone tonight. I know not yet if you may experience any other effects from this," he said quietly.

Bella nodded mutely, looking at Eomer's serious expression. She began to feel claustrophobic; like an animal confined in a cage. He walked over to her and took her arm, leading her out of the room into the dark hallway. When she ripped her arm out from his, he did not stop her. Instead, he watched as she placed her hands against the wall, high above her head, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply in and out. "What is going on?" he demanded. Bella made no move that she had heard him, or that she was going to respond. Finally her lips moved and she mumbled something too soft for him to hear. "What did you say?"

"Pippin looked into the Palantir," she repeated, louder this time so that he could understand. Bella kept her eyes shut, focusing on the steadying sound of her breathing. The whisper had faded and the blazing eye no longer burned beneath her lids. Someone placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump up in surprise.

Eomer was gazing at her seriously, "He'll be fine; you know this."

She nodded mutely. _Of course I know that he'll be fine! I know that everything is going to be fine! But that doesn't stop me from worrying. That doesn't stop the fact that I wonder how much damage I do just by remaining here. My very presence poses a threat to everything! You entire world hangs by a thread, which I could easily—even by pure accident—snap. And I know that he saw me; he knows I am here. I could have possibly fucked up this whole goddamn universe!_ "I know he'll be fine." _It's me and everyone else that I'm worried about. And my head still fucking hurts._ "Ugh," she groaned, pressing her fingers against her temples.

"What is it?" Eomer asked, beginning to worry about the ashen color of her face.

"My head's pounding like a fucking sledgehammer," she hissed. Eomer began to open his mouth but she cut him off, "A sledgehammer is just a big-ass hammer; think Gimli's axe, but make it a hammer. Having Sauron attempt to dig around your mind does not do wonders for your head."

He tensed, "He saw inside your head?"

_He saw nothing of consequence to anyone but me._ "No, he did not; but he tried."

Eomer gazed probingly at Bella; her face was twisted into a grimace, fingers practically crushing into her skull. "I can give you something for your head," he said finally.

Quickly she opened her eyes, turning to stare at him, "Why didn't you say so before?!" _Middle Earth-style Ibuprofen, here I come!_

He shrugged. _Why do you think?_ "I was more worried about what was going on in the other room. The presence of the Dark Lord is not something easily pushed aside for a headache.

_Oh._ "Point taken; now take me to the headache cure," she demanded, still gripping her head. Eomer nodded, took hold of her elbow and led her through the dark corridors of the still-sleeping hall. When the air about her became colder, she realized that she was in a cellar. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"We keep stores of medicinal plants and herbs down here; the cooler temperature keeps them potent for longer periods of time." Eomer let go of her arm, walking away to look about the crowded shelves. "It should be around here somewhere," he muttered to himself, eyes flickering about. Finally he grabbed a leather parcel off the shelf and laid it out on a wooden table in the center of the room.

"What's that?" Bella eyed the dark strips inside the parcel warily.

"It is bark from a willow tree; it shall help soothe your pain."

"Willow bark?" she asked, distrust lacing her tone. "You think that this will help me? What do I have to do: eat it?"

"If you do not wish for my help then I shall return this to its place."

"No, no! Do what you're gonna do."

"Thank you." He disappeared within some back shelves and came out with a kettle of water, placing it atop a small fire in a nearby corner. "And you do not eat the bark," he spoke, "you drink it."

"Drink it?"

"Yes; when steamed and brewed into a tea, the bark helps to soothe aches of many natures."

"Oh. Willow bark, you say?" Eomer nodded, easily and nimbly preparing the strange tea. Bella went over and sat on the edge of the table, swinging her legs in the open air below them, fingers still massaging her temples.

"Here," Eomer was a holding a mug of steaming tea beneath her nose. "Inhale and then drink."

"Inhale?"

"Just do it," he growled, irritated by her lack of confidence in his knowledge of the draught.

Taking a deep breath, Bella drew in the rich, woody scent of the steamed bark before she took a massive gulp, scalding her throat with the hot drink. The warm liquid settled in her stomach, giving her the sensation of having placed a heating pad there; the pain in her head began to lessen, the pounding ceasing. Bella tested her fingers against her temples; finding no difference, she smiled and swigged the remnants of the tea in the mug. "Thank you, Eomer," she said, handing the empty mug over to him. He took it silently, placing it up on a shelf behind him; all the other supplies he'd used were not in sight. _Wow: he's, like, tidy. _

"Let's get you back to your room," he said, offering to help her off the table. She jumped down easily, landing steadily on her feet and following him out. He still did not speak, walking with a quick step, yet measured step until he reached the door to her quarters. Bella opened it, immediately sitting on the edge of her bed. Eomer remained in the doorway, watching.

"You can come in, you know," she said.

He stiffened. "That is not considered appropriate, Bella."

She rolled her eyes, almost laughing, "Well then leave the door open, but don't just stand there; it looks awkward." Eomer took a step forward into the room, grabbing a nearby chair and sitting himself in it. He looked uncomfortable. "You could sit here with me," she motioned to the spot beside her. Eomer shook his head. "I don't have rabies, you know!" she retorted. "It's an infectious disease, by the way."

In a huff, Eomer grumbled, "It is not all your fault. I do not like being kept out of my uncle's counsel, especially not to babysit you; you are not a child, you should not need to be watched like one."

_Testify, my man!_ she thought. Instead of saying this, Bella nodded sympathetically in agreement.

"Besides," he added lowly, "I do not particularly like being in this room."

"What's wrong with the room?" Bella asked in surprise. _It seems awfully nice to me: spacious, comfortable, fantastic balcony view. I mean, lack of running water sucks, but there's nothing I can do about that._

"Nothing is wrong with the room."

"Hey don't do that! You don't say that you don't like the room and then say nothing is wrong with it. That's just going to keep me wondering."

"You should try to get some sleep, Bella."

"Not until you tell me."

"Sleep. Now."

"No," Bella was acutely aware of how much she sounded like a petulant child.

"Fine." He lapsed back into brooding silence, his face dark.

She stared him down for about five minutes before giving up with an exasperated sigh. "What?! Did, like, the love of your life turn you down in this room, or something? It can't be that bad?"

Eomer avoided her gaze, determined not to yell at her. _She does not know; she does not understand._ Instead, he stared pointedly at the wall and said, through clenched teeth, "Go to sleep, Bella."

She sat in fuming defiance for a few more minutes, but, eventually, her eyelids became heavy. Crawling back into the covers, she said, determined not to lose, "I still don't see what's wrong with this room." The last few words were garbled with the natural slur which comes with sleep, but Eomer had understood.

When he saw the even rise and fall of the blankets, Eomer at last let out a frustrated sigh. "I hate this room because it was my room after my parents' death; it was in here that I spent many days having to mourn their loss, even though I did not wish to accept that they were gone; and it was in here that I learned the arts of war, fighting through a haze of anger." He spoke softly so as not to wake her, so as not to let her hear a word of the confession. Eomer simply sat, watching as the even rise and fall of her shoulders became disjointed; as she began to toss fretfully; as the fit subsided and eventually returned to deep slumber. Finally, when the sun's rays began to creep through the open windows, Eomer got stiffly out of the chair and returned to his own chambers. There was no noise from the wizard's room. _What is going on here?_ he wondered as he stared out at the orange sky.


	14. Chapter 13: Rain

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize for having another major song moment in here. I just can't help myself! I always listen to music when I write and when I was thinking about writing this chapter (with absolutely no idea of what was going to happen) this song started playing. I could totally imagine Bella knowing/playing this song, so I randomly gave her another song moment. Considering that Tolkien's saga is full of songs, I think I'm being relatively nice here in terms of length and amount. Lol. :P

I had actually originally set that little song moment to "Let Me Sign" by Robert Pattinson, but decided I preferred Simon & Garfunkel's song for the mood. *shrugs*

Anyways, here is a link to the song in case you don't know it and/or would like to listen to it. I recommend listening to it while you read that section, but that's just me. :)

http:// www . youtube . com / watch?v=kyB6qN7WYL0

Again, sorry for the spaces, it's the only way i can get the whole address to be posted.

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The day was melancholy; the sky a solid steel gray as rain poured in a steady rhythm. Everything within the Golden Hall at Edoras was still, almost silent. People kept to their rooms, occupying themselves in independent study or worrying about the dark and difficult days ahead. Bella wandered the empty halls of the castle aimlessly, not quite cheerful, but not exactly morose. All remnants of the feast had disappeared; everything was back in its place. She sighed quietly, missing the fun and rowdy atmosphere from several nights ago. _Though_, she thought,_ everyone here deserves a day of rest; they've all been through so much._

Gandalf had departed for Minas Tirith the day before; none knew what he hoped to accomplish, except for Bella. Aragorn, Gimli, and Merry sat about a fire in the throne room, speaking to each other in low voices. As she entered, they stopped, turning to face her. _Probably discussing Frodo and the Ring._ She smiled, nodded to them, and continued on her way. Again she found herself wandering down deserted corridors, looking through open doors only to find more bedrooms or storage rooms. Bella was almost at her own quarters when she peered into another open door and stopped.

It was a library; books lined dark, wooden shelves and in a corner sat what looked like a harp. It was not similar to any harp she'd ever seen and her curiosity got the better of her. Checking both ways to see that she was alone, Bella strode across the room toward the instrument. It was smaller than the harps back in her world, the strings made of a different material. Plucking lightly on one of them, the sound that issued forth sounded more like a fusion of a modern acoustic guitar and harp than a harp alone.

She pulled a chair forward and turned the harp on its side, balancing it upon her knees and the chair. _I probably shouldn't play it like this, but there is no way I could play it standing up. At least this way it's closer to a guitar_. Bella missed her own acoustic guitar at home, which she'd affectionately named Pax, the Latin word for peace. She'd been proud of the name because of its relation to her own.

"_Dad! DAD!"_

_He turned from his desk, a smile on his face, "What's up, kiddo?"_

"_I thought of name for my guitar," said gleefully, giving her father a hug._

"_Oh really?" he asked, doubtful, his eyes glinting playfully. "I hope you've come up with something original." Letting her go, he winked._

"_No, really, it's good this time. I swear." Her dad leaned back in his chair and motioned for her to continue._

"_Okay, well, remember how you said that my name comes from the Latin word 'bellatrix' which means war maiden?"_

"_Of course I do; I'm the one who picked that name for you."_

_Bella stuck out her tongue before continuing. "Well, I was thinking about what would make a good name for my guitar and—"_

"_Hope you didn't hurt yourself," her father chuckled._

"_No, I didn't, thank you very much. Anyway, as I was saying, I thought how the opposite of 'war' is 'peace,' but I didn't just want to name my guitar, peace—"_

"_Because that just sounds so hippie-like," he laughed._

"_Exactly," she laughed along with him. "Yeah, so I looked up the word for peace in Latin and, voila! It is now Pax."_

_Her father's smile became wide, "I like it, kiddo. You did good."_

_Bella gave her father a crushing hug, "You'll teach me now, right?"_

"_Of course."_

She again strummed the strings, listening as their sound hummed into silence. The rain outside plinked steadily against the window, calming her. She loved when it rained, especially back home. Whenever it did, Bella and her father would sit in the two giant rocking chairs on the back porch and take turns reading to each other from whatever it was they had at the time. Her dad almost always had _THE LORD OF THE RINGS_. Sitting there, now, with the strange harp in her lap, Bella could see her father's face more clearly; the way his blue eyes lit up whenever he read from those faded pages; how his voice sounded whenever they would sit, guitars in hand, and sing random songs during stormy nights.

Finding the right tone, she began to play a melody she'd always loved. Her father used to have her play it on particularly rainy nights, always creating a different harmony whenever she did.

"_Hello darkness, my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again."_

She saw him smile at her, imagined the way he would begin to strum harmonizing chords, closing his eyes as he listened.

"_Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains.  
Within the sound of silence."_

Bella closed her eyes, hearing only the rain, the harp, her own voice, and the ghost-like whisper of her father's rough voice. So lost was she in the music and in her memories that she did not sense when someone came to stand in the doorway of the library, drawn by the sound of her song.

"_In restless dreams I walked alone  
Narrow streets of cobblestone,  
Beneath the halo of a street lamp,  
I turned my collar to the cold and damp  
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of  
A neon light  
That split the night  
And touched the sound of silence."_

He did not know what it was a neon light was, but for some reason, he seemed to understand what it was she was saying; it was a song of loneliness, of disillusionment. Had he not been in the same situation mere weeks ago? The harp was draped across her knees on its side; _why in Middle Earth is she playing it like that?_ Little though he knew of how to play the instrument, he was positive that the harp was played standing up. If he had not been so interested in her playing, he might have asked about it.

"_And in the naked light I saw  
Ten thousand people, maybe more.  
People talking without speaking,  
People hearing without listening,  
People writing songs that voices never share."_

Accidentally, she strung a wrong note and stopped playing, continuing a cappella as she got her bearings on the strange instrument.

_And no one dared  
Disturb the sound of silence."_

Tears began to build beneath her eyelids, but she would not allow them to flow, instead focusing upon the way her father would strum the strings on his guitar. It was so soft that you'd think it was a caress. In the doorway, the hazel eyes continued to watch the girl silently. There was such a bold and bare truth to the words she sang; it was both beautiful and harsh at the same time. Bella, testing the strings until she found the needed chord, continued,

"'_Fools,' said I, 'you do not know  
Silence like a cancer grows.  
Hear my words that I might teach you,  
Take my arms that I might reach you.'  
But my words like silent raindrops fell,  
And echoed  
In the wells of silence"_

The brow furrowed above the hazel eyes; he knew not what cancer was, but seemed to understand that it was a pestilence; it was like her words themselves were wrapping him in an aura of silence. Life and the world seemed far away, like looking through a dark tunnel; all he could see was a strange and mysterious creature before him, singing a song of emotional trauma. _What could she have seen in the Palantir that makes her speak so honestly?_

Bella could feel her heart rising in her chest, attempting to tighten her throat, making it impossible for her to sing. But her father's face blazed in her memory; and in the memory of those eyes, that smile, and all the love, she briefly knocked down the barriers she had placed around herself. She moved in time with the style of the music, opening her eyes to stare at the rain-streaked windows before her, still unaware of her audience, a pair of sky-blue eyes blazing in her mind.

From the depths of the hazel eyes, emotion and understanding stirred. Eomer no longer leaned against the doorframe casually as he had been. He stood straight, still; like a man bracing himself against an oncoming flood.

"_And the people bowed and prayed  
To the neon God they made.  
And the sign flashed out its warning,  
In the words that it was forming.  
And the signs said, the words of the prophets  
Are written on the subway walls  
And tenement halls."_

A thought flickered in Eomer's mind, wondering what a subway was, but it disappeared quickly as the notes Bella played slowed. Her brow seemed to be furrowed, though the rest of her face was calm. _What are you thinking?_ he wondered, practically shouting it in his mind.

"_And whispered in the sounds of silence."_

The last chords faded ethereally into silence. Bella closed her eyes again, swallowing back the wave of emotion which threatened to crash over her. She stood, placing the harp upright and into its former position.

"You have a talent for song," came a voice from the shelves, causing her to start slightly. Legolas stepped out from a shadowy corner, an open book in his hand. She blushed furiously, bowing her head, mumbling her thanks.

Eomer did not see what happened next. At the sight of her bowed head and embarrassed smile, he had turned, walking off to his own quarters, deciding it was time he review his maps in order to prepare for the meeting he had later with his uncle.

"I do not believe," Legolas continued, "that that was the traditional way to play that particular instrument."

Bella laughed quietly, "No, I do not think it is. In my country, we have an instrument similar to this and it is played something akin to the way that I was holding it. Music is an important part of our culture, as it is with yours, I believe."

Legolas nodded, "Indeed it is. Your country, is it far from here?"

"Very," she replied. "What of yours? You are from Mirkwood, are you not?" _The Prince of the Woodland Realm. But, yeah, I know everything about you. Could that possibly sound any more stalker-ish?_

"Yes, I am. Are you familiar with my homeland?"

_Yes._ "Not particularly; I just know that at some point a great number of incredibly large spiders dwelt within its depths."

He nodded gravely, "The Great Spiders infested our woods for many years. We destroyed them several decades ago. Their infestation of our beautiful home is at an end."

"Is Mirkwood very beautiful?"

The elf smiled reverently, "Yes, it is. All around you the light from above filters down in greens and golds from the trees above. The sparring ring, in particular, looks as though someone put up a sheer leaf to the sun, changing its color."

"Is sparring a common sport in Mirkwood?" _Maybe I can learn some moves._

"Not sport: a needed skill. It is for training purposes."

A mischievous smile played about Bella's lips, "Would you be willing to teach me?"

"Teach you?"

"Yes! I can't get Eomer to teach me any of his technique and mine won't keep me alive for long; it's mainly just luck and instinct. I would like to be more precise and agile, especially with a bow."

"Practice is the only solution that I can offer for that."

She frowned, "You're right. Do you know where I may borrow a bow? I wish to practice now, as the practice range shall most likely be deserted, what with the weather being so cheerful and all."

Legolas' brow furrowed, "This is cheerful weather?"

_Sarcasm has clearly not been invented yet._ "I was joking; sometimes, we crazy mortals make jokes."

"Oh," the furrow disappeared, his brown returning to its smooth, alabaster appearance. "I must join my companions. However, Lord Eomer should be able to assist you in locating the armory. I do believe he returned to his quarters after your performance here."

Bella blanched slightly, "Eomer was watching?"

Legolas nodded, slightly confused at her reaction. "Yes, he left just as we began to speak."

_That sneaking little…sneak! You'd think he could've warned me that he was there._ "Thank you, Legolas. Your friends are in the throne room, by the way." She turned and headed down the corridor towards Eomer's personal chambers. As she approached, Bella saw that the door was open; she softened her tread, attempting silence. Once in the doorway, she leaned casually against the frame, watching the Horse Lord.

Eomer had placed his fingers to his temples, rubbing them in methodical circles, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. "You know," said a voice suddenly, causing him to jump out of the chair in alarm, "if you keep furrowing your brow like, your face will eventually get stuck in that position." He looked over and saw Bella leaning against the doorframe, amusement evident on her face.

"Don't you know that it's rude to sneak up on people?" he demanded, regaining his composure.

"Just giving you a taste of your own medicine," she responded, the smirk widening.

"What are you talking about?"

"Legolas ratted you out; he said you were watching me in the library."

Eomer gritted his teeth. _Damn that pointy-eared bastard._ "You looked like you did not wish to be disturbed."

"Uh-huh," she was almost laughing. He looked so uncomfortable: like a child attempting to cover up a misdeed. "And the fact that you bolted the moment Legolas appeared has nothing at all to do with anything, right?" Bella waved her hand about dismissively as he opened his mouth to argue, "It doesn't matter. I'm not mad, merely amused. I didn't come here to berate you, although next time let me know that you're there and don't leave it to someone else," she raised her eyebrow, daring him to disagree. Eomer said nothing, surprised that she had not instigated an argument. "What I really wanted," she continued, "was to know where the armory is. I need a bow and some arrows."

"For what purpose?"

"I wish to practice my archery. Why else?"

"In the rain?" he asked skeptically, his eyebrow raising a fraction.

Bella pulled herself up by the chest, crossed her arms, and scowled deeply, speaking in a gruff voice, "A warrior must always be able to fight even in the worst of conditions."

Eomer couldn't help it; her expression, combined with her near-perfect impersonation of himself during their sparring match so long ago, caused him to laugh outright. Bella too collapsed into a fit of deep laughter, clutching the doorframe for support. Her reaction made him laugh even more, shaking his head at the hilarity of the whole situation. "Come with me," he managed between chuckles, taking her by the arm and leading her away from his quarters.


	15. Chapter 14: Family Stories

By the time Bella and Éomer reached the armory, their laughter had died down and dispersed into thoughtful silence. Inside the room, Bella immersed herself in the racks of bows; bows of all shapes, sizes, and origins. She picked up a longer one of what looked like Gondorian design when Éomer suddenly said, "Who were the people in your song?"

"Sorry?" she turned to face him, the bow still in her hands. He was frowning slightly, watching her intently.

"The people in that song you were singing, the ones who did not listen to your words: who were they?"

"No one, I guess," Bella said, thinking. _I don't think that song was written about anybody in particular. Oh, ha ha: he thinks I wrote that song._ "I did not write that song; it's merely a personal favorite of mine. My father and I used to play it whenever there was a nighttime storm. It was a kind of tradition, I suppose," her voice trailed, wistfulness saturating her tone.

"And what of your mother?"

"She died." She said it simply, detachedly.

"I am sorry," Éomer's voice was full of sympathy.

"I was very young," she shrugged. "I have no memory of her."

"What happened?"

"She got sick and the doc—healers could do nothing for her." _C'mon, Bella; you can't slip up to him. Pay more attention when you answer._

Part of the mystery of Bella was unraveling before Éomer's eyes. _Her fear of weakness_, he thought,_ must come from this. That's why she can't stand being treated as though she is weak._ "I lost my mother when I was young as well."

Bella did not turn to look at him; she bit her lip._ I know_. "I'm sorry," she said. _What else do you say to something like that?_

Éomer picked up a nearby sword and began examining it, attempting to distract himself from the emotion which gripped his heart. "Yes," he continued, "she became ill after my father died. He was ambushed by Orcs." He flexed his jaw, the hand on the hilt of the sword gripping it a little tighter. "My mother followed within the year, overcome by grief."

The bow in Bella's hands began to shake slightly; she turned to look at his downturned face. "I'm so sorry," she breathed. _I am sorry because I am lying to you almost every second you're with me. I'm sorry that you're telling me these things, and I already know them. I am sorry that, to me, you were once no more than ink on a page._ "My father was killed as well, only a year ago." The lump in her throat seemed to grow infinitesimally.

Éomer picked his head up sharply, gazing into Bella's eyes. They were shining, gazing at him with overwhelming pity and sadness; they were eyes that had seen many things, and in a short amount of time. He was a hardened soldier, trained to maintain his composure under the onslaught of armies and horrors of battle; but this girl and her strange ways unnerved him, destroyed those walls he had carefully and diligently built. _Granted,_ he added mentally,_ it's usually because she's driving me mad._ In her honesty now, she no longer seemed so strange; she seemed—impossible though it seemed—similar to himself; more similar than he would have thought. "What happened?" He felt that he needed to know, needed to understand this crucial piece of the puzzle of her.

Bella bit her lip, closing her eyes momentarily, attempting to decide on how to phrase what she said next. "My father was traveling home one night along a narrow road that's at the top of a fairly steep hill. Another rider came along the same road in the opposite direction; and this rider was too drunk to know that they were too drunk to try and ride home. My father swerved his c—horse in order to avoid crashing with this other rider and he—" she stopped, a noticeable catch in her throat.

Closing her eyes, Bella could see that moonlit road, could imagine her father driving his car, listening to classic rock tunes on the stereo, a tired smile on his face. "His horse reared when he tried to turn it," she continued, "and fell to the side, flipping over again, and again, and again." In her mind's eye she saw the car swerve, turning over down the side of the hill, glass shattering everywhere. "By the time the healers got to my father, it was too late; he'd lost too much blood."

_She ran wildly and unevenly through the white halls of the hospital, desperately looking for him. When she reached the desk, the nurse couldn't seem to understand her, couldn't tell her what she needed to know. "You tell me where my father is RIGHT NOW!" she'd bellowed, half-mad with terror._

_"You're going to have to tell me who you're looking for," replied the nurse, trying desperately to remain calm._

_"Give me that thing!" she cried, snatching the room assignment chart out of the nurse's shaking hands. Bella's vision was blurred as she scanned the list, the words appearing to get smaller and smaller. Finally, after wiping her eyes a myriad of times, Bella found her father's name. Throwing the clipboard back at the nurse, she dashed down the hall and up four flights of stairs. Any doctors or nurses who got in her way were unceremoniously thrown aside as she ran like a madwoman down the hall. When she finally reached her father's door, she turned in the doorway and stopped so suddenly that she had to grab the frame for support._

_The room was full of activity as nurses and doctors shouted at each other, crowded around a bed which she could not see. Bella felt like she was in a dream, the room seemed to spin and the people were all speaking a language that she did not understand. Someone grabbed her by the shoulders saying something, trying to push her out of the room. She fought back, shoving the person to the ground. "Dad?! DAD?!" she screamed desperately, willing for him to respond._

_"Miss, you need to leave, you shouldn't see this," came a male voice. A doctor stood before her, a doctor who she knew._

_"Dr. Rubia! What happened? What's going on? What's wrong with my dad?!" she was choking, breathing becoming impossible._

_"Bella, calm down, please."_

_"I will not calm down until you tell what the HELL IS GOING ON IN THERE! I WANT TO SEE MY DAD!"_

_"Bella, Bella, please don't shout. Your father was in an accident."_

_"What happened? Would somebody please just tell me what is going on?" she choked out._

_"From what he was able to tell us, he swerved to avoid a motorcyclist. The police are investigating and think the person was drunk."_

_Bella's blood went cold, "I want to see him."_

_"Bella, I don't think that's the—" Suddenly there was a great deal of commotion behind him; a terrible drawn-out electronic sound was being emitted by the machine beside the bed. Bella saw a blinking red light above a number "0" and a flat green line._

_"No, Dad, no!" she screamed. Two pairs of strong arms restrained her as she attempted to rush into the room. "Don't you leave me! DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME!" her voice was shrieking through several octaves. From somewhere she heard an order given for a sedative._

"Who was it?" Éomer's voice broke through the fog of memories.

"Sorry?" Bella blinked rapidly, returning to the present.

"Who was the other rider?"

"The poli—, the Marshals never found out," she said, voice hollow. Bella looked at the bow in her hands and placed it back on the rack, turning to other ones, focusing on breathing steadily.

"You were close to your father." It was not a question.

Bella nodded slowly, turning over another bow between her fingers. "He was my best friend," it was so soft that it was almost a whisper. She didn't hear Éomer come up to her, but suddenly she felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking it gently in a comforting manner. With his other he took the bow out of her hands and examined it.

"You will not want to use this; its alignment is off a hair." He threw it onto a pile and looked around the room. Spotting an elegant, almost silver bow, he picked it up. _Elvish_, he surmised._ Ha! I bet it's the blonde elf's bow_. "Here," he said, handing it to Bella, "use this one."

She examined it slightly wide-eyed, her lips parting in awe. "Isn't this Legolas' bow?" she guessed, rapidly eyeing him sharply.

_Yes_. "I do not know," he shrugged, feigning innocence. "If it is, he should not be leaving it here in the armory; he should keep it in his quarters." _Payback is sweet._ Éomer himself picked up a bow for himself as well as two quivers full of arrow, throwing one at Bella. "Let us go," he said.

"You're coming too?"

"Someone has to make sure that you do not hurt yourself."

Bella stuck out her tongue petulantly, but playfully. Éomer's mood was rubbing off on her. _I do believe I sense an archery contest in my future_, she thought to herself happily. As they walked out to the pitch, she examined the bow in her hands._ Definitely Legolas' bow; I wonder if he'll be mad that I'm using it. Yeah, he doesn't have to know anything about this. I wonder if Éomer knows that—_

"Alright, stop," Éomer placed a hand on her arm, bringing her to a halt. They stood in an open field, mud up to their ankles. A good ways away stood targets in the shape of Uruk-Hai. _Nothing, if not thorough_, she remarked to herself. "You say you have skill with a bow."

"When standing still: yes, some. If I were riding a horse, however, that would be a different matter."

Éomer nodded. "Show me your proficiency on the ground."

"I just told you that I—"

"Show me."

"Bossy," she muttered darkly to herself, stringing up the bow in her hands. Pulling it taut, she aimed and fired; the arrow landed just to the right of where the Uruk's heart would be. "See?" she said, turning to face him, one hand on her hip.

"Do it again."

"What? Oh, c'mon, I just showed you th—"

"It is of no use if you can do it only once. Do it again."

Bella let out a small sound of annoyance as she again strung the bow, pulled it taut, and released another arrow. This time it landed straight in the neck of the target. "Do I need to loose a third," she asked mockingly, "or are you satisfied?" She turned again to face him, a satisfied smile on her face.

Éomer nodded, face serious, "Let us get the horses." With that, he began to lead the way to the stables. The mud squelched beneath their boots as they trudged through the field.

"Does it often rain here?" Bella asked. _I'm discussing the weather. Wow._

"It is normally neither too much nor too little," he shrugged. "But during these dark days, the rain has been more frequent."

"Saruman?" she guessed.

He nodded curtly, his expression dark. "The loss of him as an ally is great."

"Well," Bella reasoned, "I mean, we kicked his Istari ass at Helm's Deep; clearly he is not as strong as us." She fist-pumped the air in remembrance of that day.

"But now Isenguard is empty; there is no one there to protect Rohan from an invasion."

_Way to kill the buzz, dude._ "Hey," she stopped, grabbing his arm. They were now just outside the stables, their clothes and hair sopping wet. "Hey, relax. I understand that you worry, really, I do. But take a break. Give yourself one day when you can just, I don't know, loosen up. I mean, take today: the clouds are out, the rain is pouring, and I think it's a perfect day for some archery. Am I worried about Mordor? Hell yes, I am. Am I going to think about that right now? Nope. Right now, I'm going to focus on kicking your Rohirric ass in archery," her face lit up in a huge smile when she finished.

_Maybe she's right; maybe I should just not think about it all for the moment. But how can I not think about it? This is my country; my homeland! Any moment it might be attacked! Although, with Isenguard in ruin, the Uruks and Orcs no longer roam through these lands._ Éomer's thoughts then turned to the ending of Bella's rant and he shook his head, "Firefoot and I are unmatched here in Rohan," he smiled.

"Yeah, well…shit I can't top that. I guess I'll just have to rip you off your pedestal."

"May the best man win."

"Alright, Éomer, but remember: you asked for it.


	16. Chapter 15: Archery

Celebrian was not pleased to discover she would be riding in the rain; well, really the mud more than the rain. She snorted and frequently threw Bella particularly baleful glances as they trotted back to the archery site. Bella merely chided her, "Sutake," glancing pointedly at Eomer and Firefoot. The imposing horse was standing tall, trotting with its usual air of gravity, head high and proud. Never wanting to be outdone, Celebrian immediately straightened up, thrust her head out, and began to walk with a more serious and purposeful step. Bella smirked, shaking her head. _Silly girl._

The bow in her hands felt light, almost as if it wasn't even there. On my back was the quiver of arrows Eomer had handed her; these were not of Elvish design. With her hair beginning to plaster about her face, Bella carefully laid the bow across the saddle, pulling her hair up and twisting it into a very messy knot. _So much better_, she thought. They were almost to the training field now, the Uruk statues getting ever closer. "How did you make those?" she wondered aloud.

"We stripped the carcasses of their armor and sized them up against the wood and netting."

"You mean, like, someone had to lift the thing to its feet and then hold it while someone else measured?" she wrinkled her nose at the thought. The rain had begun to come down, if possible, even harder; it streamed down Bella's face, dripping off her nose and chin.

Eomer shrugged, "It had to be done." Firefoot trotted over; Eomer held his bow, strung and read, in one hand, his other on the reins. "You'll have to learn to ride without reins; you have to trust your horse."

"Is that why you're unmatched in archery: because you _trust _your horse?" she smiled good-humoredly, her voice thick with sarcasm.

"No; most riders can handle a horse reasonably well without their reins because they have ridden the same horse for a long time. The problem is that the horse spooks in battle or the rider doubts himself out of fear and becomes careless. It is a simple matter of diligence and practice; that is why we are unmatched."

_I love how he says 'we' instead of 'I.' It's so, I don't know…almost spiritual._ "Okay, well, I know how to ride Celebrian without reins; it's how I first learned to ride: bareback and without reins. I always started too big," she shrugged, laughing. "Took me a while, I eventually learned. I still ride bareback with Celebrian every now and then during the summer. It's her favorite time; hecetu, Celebrian?" she asked, patting the horse's neck. She neighed in response, shaking her white head vigorously up and down. Bella laughed as she turned to gaze at Eomer. His brow was furrowed as his eyes flickered between Celebrian and herself. "What?!" she demanded.

"Why is it that you speak to your horse in a language which only you understand?"

"It is the only language she understands," Bella replied simply. _Languages. Totally not worth trying to explain that to him; doesn't really make much of a difference anyway._ "I could teach you a little bit, if you'd like; just basic things, nothing particularly difficult."

Eomer smiled slightly, "I would like that."

"Okay then, let's make it a bet: if you win this contest, then I teach you some of my language; if I win, then I get to ask you ten questions about whatever it is that I want and you have to answer truthfully." Slinging the bow over her shoulder, Bella held her hand out to him, "Deal?"

He stared thoughtfully a few moments, his eyes on her out-stretched. Eventually, he stuck out his own, clasping hers in his grip, "We have an accord." His voice was serious, with just a hint of curiosity and amusement, a sardonic smile on his lips.

"Excellent; now, teach me what I need to know."

"Show me your riding skills without the reins."

_Probably no use arguing, right?_ "Fine," her voice was cheerful as she threw down the reins, nudging Celebrian's sides with her legs. "Ayusta ukiye iyaya," Bella whispered in the horse's ear. Celebrian began to trot, slowly at first, as Bella dropped the reins, raising her arms out at her sides. She trotted in a circle around Eomer, eyebrow raised. "See?"

"Faster."

"Is this really necessary?"

"Faster," his face was set.

"Oha ko, Celebrian," she said commandingly, eyes still on Eomer as the horse bolted off. Bella's legs gripped the sides of the horse tightly, trying desperately to keep her balance. She raised her arms up higher, throwing her head back, letting the wind and rain whip across her face; eyes closed, she felt as though she was flying. "Gli el Eomer, Celebrian," she said loudly, feeling the horse turn sharply, nearly tipping her off. Bella opened her eyes and grabbed a hold of the reins again, coming to a quick stop beside Firefoot. "Happy?"

"Why did you put your arms out like that?" Eomer's brow was furrowed; he was utterly confused. _You could easily fall off and hurt yourself doing that? Why would she deliberately tempt fate? If she wants to fight as badly as it seems she does, then she should not be so...so…reckless!_ "Did you not realize you could have fallen off?"

Bella laughed, "Of course I know that; it's a risk. But everything has risks attached to it. Besides," her eyes lit up, "it feels like flying; I feel free."

Eomer turned to gaze out at the seemingly never-ending field. _Free. Yes, I suppose it does feel like being wild and untamed. Untamed. That is it; that is the word. She is like the wild Mearas which roam the lands; she neither needs nor requires a master._ "Arm your bow," he said, swiveling back to look at Bella's exhilarated expression. "We shall start slow," he added, watching her pull an arrow from the quiver.

"Don't go too slow," Bella remarked, watching Eomer pull out his own bow, "because then I'll over-think everything."

"It is best to start small and work your way up to the more difficult maneuvers. Besides, did you not say that you always started off too large, thus fail more quickly?"

"Now who says that I'm going to fail so qui—wait a minute: you remembered that?"

"Why would I not?"

"Well I just figured that…never mind." _Honestly, I figured that you just tuned me out. _"How slow are you thinking?"

Eomer shrugged, "A mere trot; nothing particularly difficult."

"Okay, you've got to have me at least cantering; I need to actually get a feel for the speed or I'll be hopeless in battle."

"You expect another battle?"

_Yes._ "Don't you?" _Well, you better, anyway, because you're going to get one in roughly a few days._

"I suppose you are right; alright, ready yourself. I want you to charge forward at the target while taking aim and fire once you reach me. Do you understand?"

"Yep," Bella was excited, her heart leaping about. She waited for Eomer to place himself a good distance from the target; she backed up, preparing for her first attempt.

"Alright," he shouted, "on my mark: three, two, mark!"

Bella charged forward, hands slipping as she dropped the reins, attempting to arm her bow; she was closing in fast on Eomer. Just as she was about to reach him, Bella pulled back the arrow and let it fly; she hadn't even gotten a real chance to aim. The arrow flew right past the 'ear' of the target, landing some meters behind it. "Damn," Bella swore to herself.

"That was good for your first attempt, considering you disregarded what I said about starting off slowly," Eomer's mouth turned up slightly at one corner, amusement in his voice.

"Like you already know: I—"

"Start off with too high a degree of difficulty, yes." He trotted up closer, their horses' sides almost touching, "Your problem is that you need to arm your bow faster; that way you'll have some time to aim for your target. Granted, your target will most likely not be still, as is this one, but quickening your hands will allow for better accuracy."

"Kind of hard when the rain's making this thing really slick," she griped, pointing at the Elven bow. "You'd think that the elves would've designed something to combat that," she continued in a low voice.

"Well, they did not, so you will just have to make do with that it is you have. Try again." Bell returned back to where she had started, taking a deep breath to prepare herself. "Three," she clutched the reins tightly; "two," she bent forward, eyes fierce; "mark," Bella took off in a fit of speed, immediately dropping the reins, hands dashing into the quiver on her back. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she pulled the arrow across the bowstring, bringing it up to aim; she had time on this attempt to try and make a clear shot. Just as Celebrian reached Firefoot, Bella loosed the arrow. It flew through the air, landing in the target's collarbone.

"Okay, I aimed for the neck, but that's not too bad, I guess," she said, hand on her hip as she turned back to Eomer. He nodded, motioning for her to try again. _Practice makes perfect, or, at least, close to perfect. Oh my god I hope he doesn't have me try this against a moving target; that would be a laugh!_

Bell and Eomer continued in this manner for another hour until she could charge full-speed and accurately shoot arrows into the neck and chest of the target. "You are a fast learner, Bella," Eomer said, looking to where her last arrow had landed right between the target's eyes. "This is very impressive improvement that you have made," his voice was sincere, his eyes shining behind the wet hair that was plastered about his face.

"Did you just give me a compliment?" Bella joked, clutching her chest in false shock. "The gods be praised, Eomer just actually complimented me! The apocalypse has come!" then she burst out in laughter, giving him a friendly punch on the arm, "I'm just joking; but thank you. Now," her voice became devious, her eyes twinkling, "I think it's time that you and I carried out our little wager."

Eomer raised an eyebrow, "You still wish to challenge me?" He too began to smile.

"You bet your Rohirric ass I do. Now, how're we going to do this?" Her eyes narrowed in thought, hand coming to rest under her chin. "Obviously we need to test accuracy and consistency," she muttered to herself, unaware of Eomer staring intently at her face. Suddenly she seemed to sense his eyes on her and turned to stare at him, "You could offer some suggestions, you know."

He shrugged and said simply, "Best two out of three."

She smacked her forehead, "Oh duh! Now why didn't I think of that? Okay; so, let's assign point values. I'm thinking that the head should be fifty points; throat and neck forty points; chest is wide so we'll make that twenty-five; arms and legs are fifteen; ah yes, and the manly jewels will have to be forty as well. Oh don't look so damn shocked!" she laughed, looking at his open mouth. "It's me: all my friends were guys; I'm not 'unknowning' in such things as that. I mean, really!" Bella continued laughing hysterically at Eomer's stunned expression.

The Horse Lord shook his head slightly, "One shot each?"

Bella nodded, "Excellent; I say we ride up to a point by which we must shoot or have taken a shot. May the best man win," she added, smiling, turning Celebrian. Eomer followed, Firefoot's thunderous tread closing in from behind. Once she was a suitable distance away, Bella turned again, facing Eomer's approaching form. "Alright, that fence post right there shall be our marker; by that point we have to fire or have fired a shot." She wiped her dripping face with her hand, "You ready?"

"To watch you fail? Yes, I am," Eomer smiled.

"Alright then: on your mark…get set…go!" Bella cried, immediately kicking against Celebrian's sides and darting forward. _Alright_, she thought, _aim for between the eyes; just go for it._ Beside her, she could hear Eomer's steady breathing as he took out an arrow. As quickly as possible, Bella too began stringing up an arrow. Her fingers were slippery and the bow kept bouncing about in her hands as Celebrian galloped. With difficulty she raised the bow—thinking not only of hitting the target, but also of not falling—and took aim. Just as she reached the fence post, her fingers slipped and the arrow flew from the bow. _Damnit! The arrow's dipping._ Bella was right; too soon the arrow began its descent and landed right in the target's collarbone. She looked over and saw Eomer just approaching the fence post, his hands steady as he let his own arrow fly. It flew straight and swift into the mouth of the target. _Shit_, she thought,_ he really is good. So it wasn't all just talk. He can put his money where his mouth is._

Firefoot slowed, Eomer sporting a triumphant and satisfied smile. "I believe that gives me the lead," he said.

"Yeah for now, pony boy. It's fifty to forty; enjoy it while it lasts."

"Pony boy?" He sounded insulted by the term.

"Aw, relax, it's a joke," Bella laughed, punching his arm. "Round two, my man. You ready?"

"After you," he gestured back towards their makeshift starting line. Bella raced back, a sudden breeze whipping at her face, making the rain on her face feel like an icy mask; she shivered momentarily. _Grit your teeth; just ignore it. You can do this._ Eomer came up swiftly behind her, his face set and determined.

"Alright," she said through gritted teeth, forcing down another round of shivering, "get ready…get set…go!" Bella again nudged Celebrian's sides, darting forward silently, almost effortlessly; her pace was slower than the last time as she pulled back Celebrian to match Firefoot's powerful stride. Eomer turned to look at her, but she didn't respond, hands already stringing up an arrow to the bow; her hands shook from the cold, but she forced her fingers to dexterously sting up the arrow. The bow felt almost weightless in her hands as she held it up, taking aim. _Got to love the elves_. Out of the corner of her eye, she snuck a peek at Eomer; he too had stung up his bow and was eyeing his target darkly. When he let his arrow go, Bella turned back to the target; she found her target, waited for the right moment, and fired. It cut through the air and pierced the target right between the eyes. _Hell yes! Score!_ She fist pumped the air with a small whoop of victory. As she approached the target, she searched for Eomer's arrow; it was in the target's gullet. Bella leaned over to Eomer, "All tied up, my man. Feeling nervous?" A smirk was on her face as she laughed, wiping some escaped hair from her face.

"Of losing? No."

"Well, don't think of it as losing; just think of it as being beat by a girl."

"I have no intention of being defeated by a girl," Eomer replied simply, his hazel eyes fleetingly condescending.

Bella laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. _I swear: he is the biggest stubborn ass in the world._ "Whatever, you say…pony boy," she added with a giggle before racing back to the starting point.

Eomer followed quickly, mouth downturned. "I wish to amend the terms of the wager."

"Oh really?"

"Yes; when I win, you shall desist from referring to me as 'pony boy'," he placed particular emphasis on the last two words, disgust and disbelief in his tone.

"And when I win, you better get used to 'pony boy' because I'll probably use it often. It does have a certain ring to it."

"Deal," Eomer replied curtly, pulling on the reins to turn Firefoot. He leaned slightly forward in determination and anticipation, waiting for Bella's signal.

"Alright then," she muttered, leaning forward in her own saddle. "Yamni…numpa…wanji!" she cried in Lakota, darting forward. _Okay, maybe that's cheating just a little. _Eomer, however, did not hesitate to charge after her, Firefoot's coat looking even glossier with his wet coat. Bella's fingers were steady as she strung the bow, the fence post coming ever nearer. She inhaled deeply, concentrating on her target. _No mistakes, Bella. Just breathe._ As she exhaled, she let the arrow fly, watching its path. _No, no, c'mon, c'mon! Don't dip yet! Shit._ The arrow turned down just too soon, grazed the chin and lodged itself within the target's throat. Eomer's arrow whizzed by her head and flew straight at the target. _Just let him miss, let him randomly not hit the…head…damnit._ Eomer's shot perfectly hit the forehead of the target, quivering slightly after impact.

Firefoot's gallop slowed to a trot as Eomer approached, his smile wide. "I do believe that I am the victor."

"Yeah, yeah, just rub it in. Damn! I mean, I just can't win against you, can I? I can't beat you; not at sparring and not at this. Oh well; yes, you are the winner." She held out her hand, "Good match." Eomer took it, nodding his head in return. "Well," Bella said, "I think we should head back before we drown out here!"

Eomer laughed a single, loud laugh, "Yes, the weather has taken rather a turn for the worse has it not?" He turned and began to trot back towards the stables; Bella quickly caught up and joined him.


	17. Chapter 16: Lessons

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, so, again, the Lakota is only that which I have found from a dictionary. Forgive me for any mistakes. Honestly, a good deal of this chapter is filler...and it feels like it. XP  
What Bella says about 'goodbye' in Lakota is something I learned in class, so that I can vouch for. :)

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They did not speak much on the way back to the stables. Bella was still fuming internally over her loss; Éomer merely watched her scowl with amusement. When finally they reached the walkway to the stables, Éomer dismounted as Bella did the same. "So," he said finally, stealing a sidelong glance at her, "what is it I am to learn?"

"Sorry?" Bella shook her head slightly, pulled from her mental berating session by Éomer's question.

"You promised to teach me some of your language when I won the wager—"

"When? I believe the term was 'if,'" she retorted with a laugh.

"I won nonetheless; what is it I am to learn?"

"Anything in particular you'd wish to know?"

Éomer thought a second, "What is hello in your language?"

"Hau," Bella replied promptly.

"How what?"

"No, no; h-a-u, hau. That's 'hello' in my language."

"Hau."

"Lila waste," Bella commended. "That means 'very good'; 'waste' alone means 'good.'"

"Lila waste," Éomer spoke slowly, his tongue stumbling slightly with the new language.

"Ha."

"What are you laughing at?"

Now Bella did laugh, "No, no; 'ha' means 'yes.'"

"Ha?" he raised an eyebrow. She nodded. "So, hau is hello; lila waste is good—"

"Very good," she corrected quickly.

"Very good then, and ha is yes." Again Bella nodded. _I wonder what the word for_ "Warrior," he said suddenly, finishing his thought. "What is the word for warrior?"

"Warrior, warrior," Bella mumbled, searching her mind for the word. "Ah," she exclaimed suddenly, "it is akicita; war is okicize."

"Warrior: akicita; war: okicize."

"Lila waste."

"Very good."

Bella nodded in approval, "There's also ozuye, that's a war party and, one of my personal favorites, wakte oglaka, that's war stories."

"War stories? Why would that be your favorite?"

"A major part of my culture and my people is that of storytelling; war stories are often those which are remembered longest. When I was younger, my father would tell me war stories in order to help me sleep. I was a strange child," she shrugged.

"Hmm," Éomer nodded, eyeing her curiously. They were at the door of the stables now, Bella turned to go in and as she did, she felt her feet lose their grip on the ground. Slipping and sliding uncontrollably in the slick mud, she grabbed out wildly to steady herself; her fingers caught hold of Éomer's sopping tunic. He was not prepared for this and so was pitched forward with her. Both of them suddenly found themselves spitting out mouthfuls of cold mud. "A little warning might have been in order," Éomer spluttered. Bella rolled over to look at him, prepared to fire back, but when she took in his muck-covered appearance, she burst into fits of laughter. Tears started forming under the force of her laughter, or that might have been the rain that was still falling; she was not sure. "What is so funny?" demanded Éomer, attempting to wipe the slime from his face with little success.

Bella barely managed to get the words out as she continued rolling about in the mud, laughing hysterically, "Can you see yourself?! Haha!" Her laughter continued unabated; she did not even care that she was making herself filthier, lying there on the ground. After several minutes, she finally began to calm down and looked up at Éomer's face.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked in a hard voice.

"Yes," she snorted, rising to her feet. Celebrían nudged her with her nose, giving a whinny of amusement. "Toka sni, tima hel," she laughed, grabbing hold of the reins and heading for the stables.

"What did you say?" Éomer asked, leading Firefoot inside right behind them.

"Toka sni: alright; tima hel: inside. She's had enough amusement for one afternoon," Bella stroked Celebrían's wet nose as she led the horse into her stall. Unsaddling her and covering her in blankets, Bella gave Celebrían a kiss on the forehead, said, "Tawaci gli acaji," and left the stall, closing the door behind her. Éomer was handing Firefoot's saddle to a servant, giving orders for it to be cleaned and polished. He turned to look at her, still completely covered in mud. "Shall we?" she gestured with a nod of her head to the doors leading up to the Golden Hall. He nodded, holding out his hand for her to lead.

Éomer easily kept pace as they walked silently through the sheltered passages. Just as they had turned into the throne room, several shouts halted their steps. "I'm tellin' ya, I didn't steal yer damn bow!"

"Simply tell me where it is, Gimli, and this may all be settled."

"Well I can't tell you where to find it! Perhaps _you_ should have taken better care of _your_ bloody weapon!"

_Oh shit_, thought Bella as the sounds of muffled scuffling reached her ears. She turned to look at Éomer and found him with his hand over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter. "You little shit!" she whispered. He stopped and looked at her, confused. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?!" Bella smiled, slapping him across the arm.

_Perhaps._ "Well, not this exactly," he whispered.

Bella rolled her eyes, grabbed the bow, and sauntered into the throne room, composing her face into one of innocence. Legolas and Gimli were standing tensely, staring each other down. "Excuse me," she said, "do you happen to know to whom this bow belongs? It really is quite beautiful and I wouldn't want someone to steal it." The elf and dwarf turned; the blonde's eyes widened slightly when he recognized the bow.

"Where did you find that?" he demanded, striding forth swiftly to retrieve it.

"So it is yours then?" _Not that I, or Éomer, didn't know that._ "I found it in the hall back there; it looked as though it had been dropped by someone. Other than that, it is in perfect condition."

Legolas' eyes and fingers moved dexterously over the weapon, scanning for any flaw or defect. Finding none, he turned his blue eyes to hers, finally noting her appearance. "Why are you all wet?" he asked.

From behind him Gimli chuckled, "I think the better question would be: why are you covered in mud, Bella? Surely you were not outside in this weather!"

She laughed, "Actually, I was. Éomer was helping me perfect some of my battle technique."

"Éomer?" Gimli asked, searching for the familiar face of the Horse Lord.

"He's hiding," Bella shrugged. "I might have accidentally gotten him absolutely covered in mud."

Gimli raised an eyebrow, a devilish grin on his face, "Did you now?"

"Yes," Éomer replied gruffly, stepping through the doors, "she did. Bella lost her balance outside the stables."

Legolas spoke to Éomer, "King Théoden is awaiting you in his chambers; we were on our way to find you when we—"

"Became sidetracked, yes," laughed Bella. "Well," she turned to Éomer, "I'll leave you boys at that and go change out of these…well, what used to be presentable clothes." Turning away with a slight wave, she had gone only a few steps before she heard Éomer call out to her.

"What is goodbye?"

Bella smiled and twisted to face the three men. "There is no word in Lakota for goodbye."

_"Never was and never shall be," her father said._

_"Never ever?!" the young Bella exclaimed._

_"Never ever. Do you know why?" She shook her head. "Do you want me to tell you?"_

_"Yeah! Daddy, tell me, please!"_

_"Alright," he laughed, touching his finger to the tip of her nose. "The Lakota do not have a word for, nor do ever they say goodbye because that __means the hoop of love and connectedness is broken." Bella gasped. "Yes, that is a terrible thing, kiddo. So, now you know, that you never EVER say goodbye forever to anyone. And why is that?" his smile was wide._

"Because goodbye always has the knowledge of return," she laughed softly, shaking her head at the memory. The men looked at her without understanding. "The Lakota believe that everyone is spiritually connected; to say goodbye shatters that hoop of love and connectedness. There has never been a word for goodbye. Instead, we speak not of farewell, but of the promise of seeing each other again." _Even if we don't_, she added bitterly.

"Your people are very wise," Legolas said; he looked almost in awe.

"Not as wise as the Elves," Bella replied with a smile. "Tohanl hehatu tohatu," she bowed her head slightly. "Until next time." With another brief nod of her head, Bella turned and exited the room, leaving the three men momentarily speechless.

Legolas broke the silence first. "A truly strange and singular creature," he mused in a thoughtful voice.

"Aye, that she is," Gimli concurred.

"Were you not supposed to tell me where I could find my uncle?" Éomer interjected, anxious to return to King Théoden.

"Aye, laddie, that we were," Gimli said seriously. "Doubt anything will have changed much; probably still arguing about Gondor," he grumbled.

"Gondor?" Éomer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What does Gondor have to do with anything?"

"That is precisely the problem, m-boy," the dwarf said gruffly, leading the way down the halls towards the sounds of raised voices.

"If the beacons of Minas Tirith are lit, you must be prepared to ride to Gondor's aid!"

"And when we held out at Helm's Deep: where was Gondor's aid to us?"

"My lord Théoden, you—"

"You, Aragorn, are not the King of Rohan."

"I am not attempting to be, I am trying to make you see how the men must stand together and fight as one force against Mordor!"

Éomer, Legolas, and Gimli stopped in the open doorway, looking at the two men who were on opposite ends of a large wooden table, their hands clenched into fists. Aragorn looked about ready to hit something in frustration. Théoden turned to the figures in the hall and then back to Aragorn, "That is enough. You and your friends may leave, Aragorn; I need to speak with Éomer alone."

The ranger glared at first, but then sighed in resignation and stalked out, Legolas and Gimli following in his wake. Éomer shut the door quietly behind them. "My king, what is going on?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

Aragorn left Legolas and Gimli at the door to his own chambers; he was frustrated with Théoden, but he perfectly understood his motives. _Why is it that even the bad decisions seem like the right ones!?_ He sat down upon the bed in his room for many minutes, rubbing his tired face with his hands. Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. Lifting his head from his hands, Aragorn strode the length of the room and opened the door to find Bella standing there, still in her mud-covered clothes, a green tunic in her hands. "I think this is yours," she said, holding it out. "The maids accidentally placed it in my room."

He took it, "Thank you, Bella."

She waved dismissively, "Eh, it's no big deal; it's just a shirt. Well, goodnight, Aragorn." Bella turned to go, but Aragorn called out to her, causing her to stop.

"Wait! I wish to speak with you."

"Oh? What about?"

He glanced quickly up and down the hall, checking that it was deserted, before he led her inside his room and shut the door. _What the hell?_ She thought. "Aragorn, what are you—"

"I need to know what it was you saw in the _palantir_."

"I'm sorry?" Bella's asked disbelieving, blinking in surprise. _Why would he need to know that?_

"Please, Bella, it is of the utmost importance that you tell me," Aragorn pressed. His eyes stared deep into hers, a twinkle of desperation within his blue irises.

"Weren't you, like, passed out on the ground after touching it? How did you know that I saw anything?" _How does he know? I saw him drop like a ragdoll; if Legolas hadn't caught him, he would've cracked his head on the stone floor._

"Gandalf," he said simply.

_Oh duh._ Bella nodded. "Well, I'm sorry, Aragorn, but I can't tell you."

"Why not? Bella, this is vital! If you saw anything of Sauron's plans, then you must—"

"I saw nothing that you did not already know!" she shouted. "I saw the same as Pippin: the White Tree of Gondor in flames! I heard the crashing of arms and that was all." _All that you need to know, at least._

Aragorn stared at her, eyes boring into her own. "You are lying," he concluded. "There is something that you are hiding."

Her jaw clenched, "It is none of your business."

"You told Éomer, did you not?" he guessed, watching as her eyes glinted angrily.

"What if I did?" she countered. "Does that make a difference?"

He sighed, "No; that tells me that it was nothing particularly vital." _To us at least_, he amended silently. "I am sorry that I lost my temper with you, Bella; it was unfair."

She nodded, "You're under a lot of strain; I understand. It must be hard to do what you're doing; I certainly couldn't. I'd probably go insane!" her laugh was full of mirth. "Well," she said awkwardly, "this has been interesting; now I shall attempt to actually change into clean, dry clothes." Bella turned on her heel with a little loop and wandered off, leaving Aragorn shaking his head.

"Where did she come from?" he wondered aloud. The moment of levity soon ended, however, when his thoughts returned to Gondor and to Sam and Frodo.

Bella walked uncomfortably back to her room, clothes clinging to her like a second skin. _Ew, ew, ew, ew, ewwww!_ she thought, rolling her shoulders back reflexively. _Everyone here is so nosy. What would Aragorn think that I had seen? Well, I suppose if he thought I'd seen anything relating to Gondor and whatnot, he'd want to know. He can't know that I know about Frodo and Sam…can he? Nah._

A good scrub in a tub of tepid water later, Bella felt better, though still not completely clean. "I miss running water," she groaned, stepping into the clothes she'd worn when she first arrived. The jeans and tank-top felt familiar, comforting. Moving on the tips of her toes, Bella ran to where her knapsack sat in the corner and quickly withdrew the faded pages of _THE LORD OF THE RINGS_. Quietly she made her way back to the bed, placing the novel upon her lap. "Alright," she muttered, heart beating a little harder, "time to see if I've ruined everything." _Okay, breathe…please let everything be normal!_ Hesitantly, she turned to the very back of the book, flipping until she reached the last few chapters. There, she read the words printed on the pages.

"'_Yes,' said Frodo. 'But do you remember Gandalf's words: Even Gollum may have something yet to do? But for him, Sam, I could not have destroyed the Ring. The Quest would have been in vain, even at the bitter end. So let us forgive him! For the Quest is achieved, and now all is over. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.'"_

Bella let out a great sigh of relief; she had not realized that she had been holding her breath. "Okay," she said, voice shaking ever so slightly, "so I haven't fouled anything up. Thank goodness!" Then, biting her bottom lip, she paused, fingers hovering over the pages. _You want to know; c'mon, you know you want to!_ "Oh alright," she spoke aloud, exasperated with herself. Speeding through the pages to the back, she looked up one name, finding the last page in which he was mentioned. Eventually, she found herself flipping again to the back of the text, scanning until she found the desired pages within _Appendix A_. Bella's eyes read over the page slowly, drinking in each word.

'_2991-F.A. 63 (3084) __Éomer__Éadig__. When still young, he became a Marshal of the Mark (3017) and was given his father's charge in the east marches. In the War of the Ring, Théoden fell in battle with Saruman at the Crossings of Isen. Therefore before he died on the Fields of Pelennor, Théodred named __Éome__r his heir and called him king. In that day Éowyn also won renown, for she fought in that battle, riding in disguise; and was known after in the Mark as the Lady of the Shield-arm._

_Éomer became a great king and, being young when he succeeded Théoden, he reigned for sixty-five years, longer than all their kings before him save Aldor the Old. In the War of the Ring he made the friendship of King Elessar, and of Imrahil of Dol Amroth; and he rode often to Gondor. In the last year of the Third Age he wedded Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine the Fair ruled after him.'_

After having finished the page, Bella sat for a while in silence, merely staring at the black letters, not really seeing them. Then, she shook her head in almost disgust. _Get a grip! It's not like you didn't know this already! You knew he became king at Theoden's death. Granted, you forgot about the wife and son, but that doesn't change anything, right? I mean, he'll still be your friend…won't he?_ Despite the fact that he still frustrated her with his own irascible nature, Bella liked having Eomer as a friend; she enjoyed his company and greatly appreciated the work he had put in with her battle training. _He may be a royal pain in the ass a lot of the time, but I like being around him. Would that be inappropriate once he's all married and king and stuff?_ Irritated and confused, Bella slipped the worn book beneath her pillows as a precaution and closed her eyes, quickly falling into a perturbed sleep.


	18. Author's Note 2

Another Note from your Author:

1) I realized that I forgot to credit J.R.R. Tolkien for several *ahem* borrowed phrases and sections within the last chapter. They were the portions in italics; I assumed you're all bright enough to realize that I was actually quoting the books. :)

2) Again I wish to note that I DO NOT know anything about the Lakota language. I merely use an online dictionary that I found; I string words together when I must use sentences.

3) Thank you to all of you who are kind enough to favorite/subscribe to/review this story! That means a great deal to me as the author because, I will tell you, it's absolutely petrifying for me to place my stories in a public format. Every single time I post a chapter, I wonder what people think and I worry that they will be disappointed or dislike what it is I have written. Also, Bella is very special to me as a character; so for me to put her out into the public like this is scary, despite the fact that only a few people here know me personally. :P

4) I am sure that a long pause shall come up in terms of time between chapters; I am in college and don't always have much time to write. My work's piling up as midterms loom ever nearer, so I'm afraid that Bella's journey through Middle Earth might be put on temporary hiatus as I deal with projects and such. Now, this does not mean that I'm not writing, quite the contrary. It just means that full chapters shall not be posted. I tend to jump around while I write; various sequences that are clearer than others get written first, no matter how far along they are in the story. *shrugs* It's strange, but that's just how I write.

5) Someone asked me this, so I figured I would address this now: I do actually know how this story is going to end. Just a 'for the record.' I have known the ending since at least the third chapter and I hope that the story doesn't seem haphazardly scrambled together in order to fit a sudden ending. I do not know how many more chapters until I actually reach that ending; I guess it all depends on what happens between here and the ending, in addition to how much attention I pay to various other portions of the story.

6) As always, I hope that you enjoy the story! :D


	19. Chapter 17: The Beacons are Lit

For the next few days, life in Edoras was quiet, relaxed; or so it seemed at least. Théoden and Aragorn were still at odds, barely able to speak to each other. _Like a fighting married couple_, Bella grumbled internally to herself. She was lounging outside the Golden Hall, arms folded across her chest, mood black and brooding as she stared out at the mountains. _Oh crap_, she thought wryly, _I'm turning into Éomer!_ This made her give a short, hard laugh. Éomer had trained her hard, teaching her much about sword and bow work; she had done so poorly with the spear, that they mutually agreed to forget about it. They too, however, were at odds with each other, beyond the usual at least. Éomer's mood had been dreadful since the day of the archery contest; it was similar to his attitude when they had first met. Bella shifted momentarily before returning to her purposeful staring.

_"What's your problem?" she demanded, swinging herself down from Celebrían._

_"What are you talking about, Bella?" Éomer replied harshly. With unnecessary force, he unsaddled Firefoot, letting the horse enter his stall._

_"What do you mean, 'what am I talking about?' I'm talking about your mood; it's awful!"_

_"I do not have the luxury—which you do—of being able to live as I please without responsibility and worr—"_

_"Don't you dare pin this on me, Éomer! That's not fair! You know why I don't have any responsibility? It's because you won't give me any! Other than Gamling and the Rohirrim—yes, your Rohirrim—everyone here looks down on me; I am no better than any other girl here! No wonder Éowyn is so damn irritated: it's absolutely constricting."_

_"Do not speak to me of Éowyn; I have already spoken to her about th—"_

_"Spoken but not listened," Bella had calmed down, taking the reins off of Celebrían. "Éomer, does this have to do with Sauron moving to attack Minas Tirith?"_

_He whirled around, "How do you know of this?"_

_"I saw the same thing that Pippin did in the palantir; the white tree of Gondor is unmistakable."_

_He grumbled something unintelligible, returning to what he was doing. She finished unsaddling Celebrían and then turned to face him, watching silently. "You don't agree with Théoden, do you?"_

_Éomer sighed sharply, his back still to her. "My uncle is a great man," he said, "and one of the best leaders my people have ever had. But I wonder if he makes the right choice in depriving Gondor of aid. Aragorn is right: we must stand together as one force, or Sauron shall never be defeated; he thrives on the very fact that we are not united under one banner or treaty."_

_"You haven't told your uncle this, have you?" she guessed sympathetically. He did not answer; his silence confirming what she had assumed. Bella stepped forward and took his hand in hers, causing him to start in surprise, turning around to look at her with wide, confused eyes. "You're doing the right thing," she assured him, her hand reassuringly. "I think Théoden will see as you and Aragorn do in time; perhaps even sooner than you think."_

"A hell of a lot sooner if those beacons ever get lit," Bella grumbled to herself, shifting slightly. She stared out at the mountaintop, willing it to burst into flame as her mind wandered back to that conversation, recovering small, unimportant details. Éomer's hands had been rough, calloused from years of riding and fighting; his pulse had gone through the roof when she'd touched his hand. _All I did was freaking hold his hand!_ she thought irritably. _It's not like I stabbed him or anything._ And then, of course, he had proceeded to return to his brooding silence. _I swear, if I weren't doing the same thing right now, I'd go and give him a piece of my mind._ She growled in personal frustration; she did not wish to admit it, but her own pulse had sped up in response to his own when their hands first touched. _It was nothing_, she told herself for the hundredth time. _It's just that you've never had any physical contact with him that was, like, skin on skin; just the usual reaction. Your body's alarm system was reacting to the calluses on his hands; they basically scream, 'DANGER!' That was all, so stop thinking about it._

"Bella?" a male voice called her name.

Bella turned and saw Aragorn striding towards her. To her surprise, he seemed in a relatively cheerful mood. "Hello, Aragorn. Has something happened?" _Other than the beacons STILL NOT being lit._

He turned his head towards the mountaintops, "It appears not." Lithely, he sat down beside her, pulling out an old pipe which he presently lit and began to smoke in silence.

"Still no word from Gondor," she said with a sigh. Aragorn said nothing, merely continued to smoke, eyes far away. "Has King Théoden changed his mind yet?" _Not that I don't already know._

Aragorn exhaled, "No, he has not; and Minas Tirith will not stand for long against the lines of Mordor; if Gondor calls for aid and Rohan does not ride, then it shall fall."

Bella turned away from him, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. _So it's not just me: loyalty is a hard thing to come by in Middle Earth. Well, as long as everything goes as planned, then we should—"_

"Bella, look!" Aragorn said suddenly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Bella's eyes flew open and followed his, resting upon the nearest mountain; there, at the summit, flames seemed to explode, shooting towards the sky. "The beacons of Gondor," Aragorn was almost shouting. Scrambling to his feet, he sprinted toward the Golden Hall, Bella right on his heels. Throwing open the doors to the throne room, Aragorn cried, "The beacons! The beacons are lit!" Stopping mere feet from Théoden and Éomer, he said in a hoarse voice, "Gondor calls for aid."

Bella had stopped a few feet behind Aragorn, hands on her knees, panting; she lifted her eyes to Éomer. He glanced at her briefly before shifting his eyes towards his uncle. Théoden stood silent a moment, staring at Aragorn, surprise on his face. Then, setting his jaw, he replied, "And Rohan will answer." Théoden quickly turned his head toward Éomer, "Muster the Rohirrim."

With a quick bow of the head, Éomer lightly and reassuringly touched Éowyn's arm, then walked out, signaling for Bella to follow. She did, heart pounding and mind whirling. _Go Pippin! About time he got those beacons lit. Off to war, I guess._ Fear flashed through her body at the realization that she was riding to one of the greatest battles this world had or ever would see. _I mean, you fought at Helm's Deep; same thing, right? No, not right. That was brief, you barely even played a part; besides, Gandalf cloaked you all in the light, letting you have the first charge almost unhindered. Here, the storms of Mordor shall give speed and aid to the enemy; this battle will be long and hard. There will be death_, she thought, Théoden's face forming a clear picture in her mind.

Éomer too thought of fighting at Minas Tirith as he led Bella out of the throne room. _Minas Tirith will be surrounded; most likely all of Mordor shall be emptied for the attack. There will be Orcs,_ _Nazgûl__, and all other manner of fell creatures. This will be a battle comparable to the Last Alliance of Men and Elves so long ago; it shall be one of the greatest Middle Earth has ever seen._ Throwing open the doors, he almost hit Gamling, who had been about to open them for himself. "My apologies, Gamling. Summon and muster the Rohirrim; we must gather troops to fight: we ride to war, my old friend." Gamling's eyes grew slightly wider and shot a panicked look at Bella before he gave a short bow and headed into the town around the Golden Hall. _Yes, she is one to worry about; she should not ride to Minas Tirith with the Rohirrim, but how can I possibly explain that to her? Stubborn woman that she is, she will not listen to reason. _With a short, hard exhale, he began to stride forward before a hand on his arm spun him back around. Bella was looking at him, a blazing, determined look in her eyes.

"You're going to keep me out of this, aren't you?" betrayal laced her tone. She had seen the look in Gamling's eyes when they had swiftly looked over her face; there was no other explanation._ Don't you dare, Éomer; don't you dare keep me out of this! I'll kill you myself if you do._ He hesitated in responding, his eyes telling her what she feared. "No!" she cried angrily. "Don't do this to me, Éomer. Don't leave me here; I refuse to be left behind!" Her stance became antagonistic, hands curled into fists.

"Bella, I will not argue with you; you must understand tha—"

"Understand what?! That because I am a woman, I shall be forced to sit back and let you do all the work?! Do you expect me to then start cleaning and cooking for you like a good, little girl? Just because you say 'jump' doesn't mean I'll answer 'how high!'"

"Bella, that is not at all what I—"

"Shut up!" she shouted, causing everyone who had been pretending not to listen to turn their heads towards the pair of them. "Look," she said, voice low, "I will not stay here; I will not be left behind while you and the Rohirrim go and fight. I want to fight; I have to fight. You know that I will find a way, whether or not you _let_ me." Her eyes still held that blazing look as she stared furiously at him.

Every instinct within Éomer told him to refuse, to follow the set way of life and force her to stay behind like the rest of the women. But there was that small part of his brain which felt stung by the accusation in her eyes and voice. _She is just a woman; she cannot come with us. But she is the woman who fought at Helm's Deep; who slew Wildmen, Orcs, and Uruks singlehandedly; who out-drank an elf, a dwarf, and half the men in Rohan; and she is the woman who would find a way to join, whether or not I gave her permission. I would rather know that she was there and feel confident in her abilities, than trust somehow she was not doing something reckless._ So it was with a strange and uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach that he answered, "Very well; you may ride to war with the Rohirrim."

Bella's face lit up and she let out a, "Yes!" of delight, giving a quick fist pump.

"You shall need to find armor which fits you; do so quickly for we must ride for more soldiers within the hour."

"M'lord Éomer," Gamling had returned, a small smile on his face, "I had the smiths fashion a new set of armor for Bella several days ago."

"Really?" Bella asked excitedly.

Gamling nodded, "Aye, I did. The borrowed pair was ill-fitting and would do naught but hinder you in battle. I assumed, seeing that Lord Éomer was perfecting you in the arts of war, that you would be needing a new set soon."

Bella sprinted quickly over to Gamling and gave him a breathless hug. "Thank you so much!" she cried. Gamling laughed happily, albeit a bit awkwardly, and patted her back. Sensing his awkwardness, she let go, "Sorry: habit. There aren't such strict guidelines with personal contact between men and women in my world," she shrugged, laughing.

Gamling smiled down at her, then his eyes flickered upward and his jovial expression seemed to be wiped suddenly off his face. With a quick bow, he excused himself, "I shall go place your armor with your horse and summon the rest of the…Rohirrim…and, I…" he trailed off as he turned, leaving again towards the stables.

Wonder what's got him all," Bella turned, looking at a pair of furious grey eyes, "worked up." _Shit: Éowyn._ "Hey there, Éowyn," Bella said in a falsely cheerful voice. "How goes it?" The shield-maiden said nothing, merely glared at her brother. _Man_, Bella thought,_ if looks could kill…_

"You would allow this stranger to fight with you and not me?" she demanded, voice hard and cold.

"Yes," Éomer said simply, finality in his tone; his jaw was tight, stance tall and proud.

"I'm just going to, um, go," Bella muttered, turning around slowly, trying to remain unnoticed as she backed away, watching sparks flying from Éowyn's eyes. _Good luck with this one, Éomer._

When she finally dared to turn her back to them, Bella walked off at a relatively brisk pace, more than happy to get away as she heard Éowyn shout, "What does she have that I lack?! Besides manners, obviously!" Bella winced; that was not going to be pretty. The farther she got from the quarreling pair, the more comfortable she began to feel; absently, Bella placed her hands in her pockets, kicking her feet out before her as she wandered aimlessly. She did not care where she was headed; it did not matter.

Bella took a deep breath and gave a sigh. _Well I guess I should've seen that one coming. Doesn't matter anyway; she's going to get to Pelennor Fields whether or not Éomer tells her she can._ "Bloody, hero-worshipping glory-hound," she muttered to herself with a shake of her head. Bella glanced up and found herself at the door of the stables; she had not even realized that was where she had been headed. _Makes sense, I guess; it's gravity: Celebrían is the one living thing from my world, so I'm naturally drawn to her._ Again she sighed, "The only thing." Shoving her hands further into her pockets, she entered the stables.


	20. Chapter 18: In the Stables

The air in the stables hummed with movement and activity. Bella weaved through riders and stable hands as she made her way to Celebrían's stall. The horse was poking its head out of the door, curious about all the excitement, waiting until Bella appeared before making any noise. Humming vaguely to herself, Bella grabbed Celebrían's saddle off its hook and entered the stall. "Salve, Celebrían," she spoke soothingly. "Vehḗmus a bellum." The horse cocked its head to the side, as if questioning the sanity of this idea. "Is hecetu," Bella countered. "Rohan akayake el wawokiye Minas Tirith kicipaesya Mordor. Econ niye iyamni iyes waste tkha mis eya enaon lel na ayusta hena kikaksa miye tankal?" she laughed. The horse did as well, shaking its head up and down in excitement. _Well I'm glad you're ready for this one because it's going to be big, real big._ Bella tightened the saddle straps and led Celebrían outside.

"Bella? I was just looking for you. I had assumed that you would be with the Lord Éomer but—"

Gamling was carrying a large parcel. "I decided to let him and Éowyn duke it out amongst themselves," Bella replied. "I'm staying out of that argument. What's that you've got there?" she motioned towards the object in Gamling's hands.

He placed it down upon the ground, motioning for her to come closer. Pulling back the cloth, he revealed glimmering pieces of bronze-colored metal. "Your armor," he explained. "There is some very light chainmail beneath it as well. I presumed that you would worry about the weight of the mail in addition to the armor, so I told the smiths to compensate for that."

Bella reached down and picked up one of the pieces; it was smooth and light, glittering dangerously in her hands. Looking back down, she saw the silver mail folded in a neat pile beneath the plates. Bella did not know what to say; the surprising gift had caught her off-guard. While her mind said, _Thank you_, what came out of her mouth was, "How did you know my size?"

Gamling laughed heartily; it was a deep, almost booming sound. "A few of the men have sisters who work within the Golden Hall."

She raised an eyebrow, "They stole my clothes." Gamling opened his mouth momentarily, as if to argue her choice of words, but ended up nodding, still chuckling to himself. "Well," she said, "that explains why getting my laundry back took so damn long." Bella laughed despite herself.

"You are indeed odd, Bella," Gamling spoke, laughing, eyeing her curiously. "You have the face of a woman, but your tongue is as black as the common rider."

She laughed so hard that she had to clutch her stomach. "Damn right it is! Sorry, I'm not mocking you or anything, it's just that I've never heard it put quite that way before. Language is much," she searched for a fitting term, "looser, I suppose, in my country."

"Your country seems a strange land, Bella. I, of course, mean no disrespect."

"None taken; we are indeed a strange bunch of people, but we love life there. But I suppose that we do have something in common: we fight for our land just as you do here in Rohan."

Gamling nodded, his brow furrowing suddenly. "I do not mean to pry, nor to sound imprudent," he spoke slowly, "but I have a question; the answer to which not only I, but the majority of the Rohirrim wish to know."

Bella cocked her head, reflexively shifting her weight, hands coming to rest on her hips. "Oh yeah? Go for it."

"Why do you fight for us?" The question as blunt, straightforward; Gamling's eyes were curious. "It is something the Rohirrim has wondered since the skirmish with the Wildmen."

Despite the frown that appeared between her brows, Bella laughed briefly. "I…hmm…that's a good question." _Why do I fight?_ she thought. _I've never really question what I've been doing this whole time; I've always just gone with it. Should I be questioning this? I mean, it's Sauron: pretty much the root of all evil in Middle Earth! Shouldn't we all be banding together to fight this? Isn't it, like, our duty to fight him and try to kick his sorry ass back to the shadows? But then, what about me? I don't technically belong here; strike that, I don't belong here at all. I still feel like an intruder in this universe and I'm utterly stuck. I have no one and nothing here and no way to get back to my world. But I like it here_, she mentally shrugged._ This land is beautiful, in its rugged way. Obviously some things are lacking: electricity, indoor plumbing, etc._ "I suppose," she finally spoke, "that I fight because I too wish to protect and preserve this land that you all hold so dear; it just feels right. I would defend my home from danger, and so I wish to help—or at least try to help—you do the same. For the moment, however long it is to be, I am here. I want to help; I want to do what I can because I certainly will not merely sit by. I am far too stubborn; my father raised me to be like him: stubborn and aggressive as hell." _Hence, I have so many male friends and so damn many failed relationships._ She shrugged with a slight huff, "I'm terrible at explanations."

Gamling nodded slowly, "I understand, Bella. Your father," he added, "sounds like a great man."

"He was," she said fondly. "It's not easy being without him."

"What happened to your father?"

"He was killed in an accident a year ago. My mother died when I was very young, so my father raised me. That pretty much explains why I'm not particularly lady-like."

Again Gamling laughed, "I cannot imagine you having ever been lady-like, Bella; it does not suit you at all. The duties of a maid would smother you."

She threw her hands up, "Hallelujah! Someone who understands! Now if only you could convince Éomer of that; he still seems to expect me to roll over and behave as I 'should.'"

"Éomer trusts you enough to train you," Gamling pointed out, "and says quite a bit. In addition, he is allowing you to earn your place with the Rohirrim; he is allowing you to ride to Minas Tirith. Do not judge him too harshly."

"You sound just like my dad," she exclaimed in wonderment, shaking her head. "I bet your kids love you; I know I loved my dad."

"I have no children," Gamling replied.

"Really?" _Wow, I guess I always assumed that he'd had kids. Poor Gamling; he'd make a great parent._ "I'm sorry," she said.

"Perhaps it was not my destiny," he spoke quietly, even forlornly.

"Hey," her voice was tender, "I don't think you should worry about that. One day you'll find someone," a wicked grin spread on her face, "and have a little girl who you can train to be better than any son ever would have been." Bella laughed, clapping him on the arm, "You're still young…ish."

Gamling laughed deeply, placing a fatherly hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "If I ever have a girl," he said, "I think I shall have to keep her very far from you; you would be a definite bad influence."

Bella stuck out her tongue playfully, "Oh you know you love me." Laughing, she leaned over and gave Gamling a hug which he, surprisingly, returned.

"It is time to move out," came a gruff, irritated voice. Éomer stood in the stable doorway, face darkened by his evident black mood. Gamling gave Bella a parting squeeze before he turned to leave. He gave Éomer a short bow as he passed; the Horse Lord did not return it. "You had better either put your armor on or at least store it somewhere safe," he came forward, brushing past her to grab hold of Firefoot's saddle.

Bella looked down at the bronze pieces of metal, "Do I need to, I don't know, try them on or something like that?"

Éomer did not even lift his head, "If you wish. The smiths here are very precise; the armor should literally fit you and only you."

"Oh," she replied lamely. "Okay then." _Well, I really don't have a place to put this, so I guess it's going on._ Carefully, Bella picked up the chainmail and contemplated it. _It's so light_, she thought. _I definitely don't see this chafing any time soon, thank goodness._ With all the delicacy with which she was capable, Bella threw the mail on; it fit snugly over her shirt, allowing for lithe movement, but not gripping so tight as to smother her. She turned to grab the armor pieces and found a hand holding one out to her. Éomer had placed Firefoot's saddle beside him. "Thank you," Bella said. With quick adjustments, she strapped the arm piece on; the other arm and leg plates followed in rapid succession. The chest and shoulder plate, however, still remained in the parcel; Bella frowned. "Would you be willing to help me with that?" she asked Éomer.

He nodded, quickly picking up the armor. Bella tied her hair up in a hasty, loose ponytail as he approached. "Turn," Éomer commanded brusquely; she did. The chest plate came around her side; Bella placed a hand over the metal, holding it in place against her breast as Éomer fitted it tightly. Swiftly and nimbly, his fingers tied the straps just below her arms. Her breath inhaled sharply as his fingers grazed her skin. "What is it?" he asked, wondering immediately if she was perhaps concealing an injury.

"Nothing," she replied with a smile. Turning briefly to see his frown, Bella sighed, "It's really nothing! I'm just, well, a bit ticklish is all." _I'm explaining that I'm ticklish to a Horse Lord; that just gives a whole new definition to hilarity and, oddly enough, awkward._ Éomer was more careful and deliberate in his movements now, as he continued strapping her within the armor. "Éowyn's not too happy, is she?"

His jaw flexed, "No she is not." He pulled on a strap roughly, "But it is not her decision; she must accept my uncle's ruling and remain to govern while we fight."

"I meant about me riding with the Rohirrim."

Éomer stopped momentarily. "That grieves her as well," he spoke bluntly. "But, again, it is not her decision, therefore not her place to disagree."

_You know,_ Bella thought,_ if she didn't aggravate me so much, I might actually feel sorry for Éowyn._ She nodded mutely at Éomer, gazing straight ahead. Celebrían and Firefoot were standing just a few feet away, staring each other down. _Now what in_ _the world has gotten into those two?_ she wondered. _Horses._

"There," the Horse Lord spoke suddenly, "you are finished." She turned around to face him.

"I feel like I'm not only overdressed, but that I'm missing something," her brow furrowed in thought. "This is going to annoy me until I think of it," she grumbled.

"You are adequately attired for battle; what else could you possibly want or need?"

"I don't know. I just—ugh, I just have that terribly bothersome feeling that I'm forgetting something. Do you know what I mean?" Bella glanced up at Éomer. "Judging by your expression, I guess not." She gave a huff and muttered, "Never mind," spinning back around to finish readying Celebrían when she spotted her knapsack and other belongings already prepared, strapped neatly and tightly to the horse's saddle. "I do not recall doing that." Bella walked over, feeling at the straps of the saddle, going through her belongings. "Éomer, did you—?"

"Bella," spoke a silken voice. Legolas exited the stall beside her own, Arod's reins in hand.

"Legolas! Long time, no see." He gazed quizzically at her. "We haven't spoken in a while," she translated.

"We have not indeed. I see that you have been given new armor."

"Yep," she looked down at herself, "snazzy, isn't it?"

"What is…snazzy?"

Bella groaned in frustration, "I swear, I need to just compile a giant master list with all of my slang on it, because I feel like a walking dictionary! Snazzy is, like, good-looking sharp, in a way."

Legolas nodded, eyes still narrowed infinitesimally. "Are any of your belongings missing?"

"I—no; I just…don't recall actually gearing up Celebrían, and she throws a fit when others attempt to handle her."

"Aragorn has a way with horses which he learned from living amongst the elves in Rivendell."

"Aragorn did this?" she motioned to Celebrían. Legolas nodded. "Huh, you'd think I would've seen him, or that Éomer would have at least."

"Aragorn is rather adept at making himself inconspicuous."

"Clearly," Bella frowned; she turned to ask Éomer a question, and found that neither he nor Firefoot were there. "Did you see," she asked the elf, "where Éomer went?"

"I believe he left to muster the Rohirrim and speak with King Théoden."

"He blew me off?! I don't believe this! Excuse me, Legolas; I have a Rohirrim to join." Infuriated, Bella grabbed hold of Celebrían's reins, stomping past Legolas towards the stable doors.

"Bella, please wait a moment." She stopped in her tracks suddenly, turning to glance curious at the blonde man. "How," he continued, "do you expect to ride to war when you have no weapons?"

The answer to her irritation dawned, "That's it!" Almost shouting out in revelation, she smacked her hand to her forehead. "I knew I was missing something! I mean, knives won't sustain me in battle; I wonder why Éomer didn't rememb—" Bella broke off, blue eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Without another word to Legolas, she jumped atop Celebrían and galloped off.

"I do not understand her," the elf spoke aloud, frustrated.

"Nobody does, laddie," Gimli entered the stables from where Bella had just left, axe in hand. "Don' worry yer princely Elven head about it. You can' know everything about everyone," he finished with a laugh, enjoying the evident aggravation on the elf's smooth face.

"Legolas, my friend," Aragorn came into to the stables from the back through the armory, "Théoden is preparing to leave and we are traveling straight to the camp with him. Where is Bella's horse?"

"With Bella," chuckled Gimli in his gravelly voice.

"Without weaponry?" he held a bow and quiver full of arrows in one hand, a sword in the other.

"She fled before I had the chance to tell her," Legolas exhaled sharply. "She was speaking, as in her norm, strangely and in riddles, broke off in the middle of a sentence, and then left."

"Hmm," Aragorn turned to Roheryn and laid the weapons within a saddlebag. "Perchance at the camp I shall have the opportunity to speak with Bella; there is something about her—I cannot place it—which remains a mystery to me. I hope some of the fog may clear; perhaps you too, Legolas, may find the answers you seek."

"Do you trust her, Aragorn?" Legolas asked, voice low and serious.

The Ranger stared off into the distance, eyes in the direction of Bella's flight. After a long moment, he replied, "Yes, I do. There is a darkness that surrounds her, but it is not of Mordor's making. I think, though I know not why, she shall prove her worth before the end."

Gimli grunted, "She's a wild one, no doubt. C'mon, let's get goin'; those Orcs won't wait for us."


	21. Chapter 19: Leaving Edoras

"I wonder why Éomer didn't rememb—" Bella broke off, a thought occurring to her. _Éomer would never forget something that vital and ridiculously obvious if I were going into battle. If I were going…that son of a—_ She turned, ablaze with fury, and rapidly mounted Celebrían, turning the horse around, nudging it wildly from the stables. It was not far to go, but Bella could feel her heart pounding at her chest, swollen with anger and hammering out her betrayal. The sun-bleached locks approached rapidly as Celebrían galloped forward, responding to Bella's agitation

Éomer turned as he heard the horsebeats growing louder and faster; Firefoot's reins were held lightly in his hands. "Bella, you are ready; good, there is not time—what is the matter?"

Her eyes flashed like blue fire, lids narrowed into dangerous slits. She dismounted quickly, striding right up to him, almost colliding with his chest. "You're a real asshole, you know that? What, did you think I wouldn't catch on? You were never going to let me ride with the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith! You were going to leave me behind at the camp because I'D HAVE NO GODDAMN WEAPONS!" Bella's nose was touching his, breath coming out in short, heavy pants.

The Horse Lord's face darkened; he took hold of her elbow and led her off to the side, despite her coarse language and attempts to disengage his grip. "What is going on?" he growled.

Bella's palms were tingling; she wanted nothing more than to smack him, hard. But she controlled herself, speaking in a low, hard, albeit slightly shaking, voice, "You were just going to let me ride to the camp without weapons, weren't you?"

He clenched his jaw, not responding.

"You son of a bitch! How could you do that to me? How could you do that to anyone? At least you told Éowyn straight to her face! You don't treat people like that, Éomer. I don't care who you are or what titles you may bear; you just don't do that to people. You know one of these days, you'll find that they'll do the same to you; or that you'll wake up and find that you're totally alone, having alienated everyone from you." She knew this was not the case, but she did not care what it was she said to him now; the sting of his betrayal ran deep and Bella could only think of her own wounded pride. _I don't care if he marries that Lothiriel person! He's going to end up just some crotchety old man, alone in a crowded room. He'll never change. Why did you think he could ever change?!_ "And you know what else? In the end, when this is all said and done, you're the one who's going to look like an ass, not me."

"Bella?" a voice called out from behind her. With one last glare at Éomer, she turned on her heel and stalked off, Celebrían's reins in hand. Aragorn was leading Roheryn up to her, face curious. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she responded darkly. "Just dealing with a CHAUVINISTIC ass. What can I do you for?"

He held out a sword, bow, and a quiver full of arrows. "You will be needing these," he spoke.

She took the weapons and began strapping them to Celebrían, "Thank you Aragorn. Oh," she said, suddenly remembering, "and thank you for suiting up Celebrían for me. Legolas mentioned it in the stables."

He bowed his head lightly, "It is nothing; it needed to be done, so I did it."

"Well thank you, Aragorn," Bella looked upon the Ranger with new, appreciative eyes. _So chivalry isn't dead here. Good to know._ Bella turned back to the weapons, "Will these work well?" _I don't think that he would ever give me faulty weaponry, but you never know…_

"The weapons are good; I myself and Legolas would know." She cocked an eyebrow in question. "Legolas and I have been travelling with numerous extra weapons which have been burdening us and taking up space. The fact that you have no weapons, other than the knives you constantly carry, was opportune for you to use these."

"Wait," she said, "are you telling me that these are yours?"

"The sword is an old one of mine before Elrond reforged Narsil for my own use. The bow was of Legolas' people before the Lady Galadriel bestowed upon him a bow of Lorien. These are certainly not the best grade of weapons, being old and used, but they shall be proficient."

Bella's mouth hung slightly open as she ran her fingers over the weapons. _Oh my gosh! Aragorn's old sword and Legolas' old bow?! These are, like, the best hand-me-downs ever!_ She felt like squealing girlishly—something she never did. _Dad, I wish you could see this. You would absolutely flip! I mean, Aragorn and Legolas used these!_

"Perhaps we should got and rejoin the others before they ride off without us in attendance."

"Um, yeah. Sorry, you're right," Bella blinked rapidly, brining herself back to the present. She mounted Celebrían and waited for Aragorn to mount Roheryn. "Are you riding with Théoden to the camp?"

"Yes, I am to be in the king's company on the way to Minas Tirith. You are riding with the Rohirrim, are you not? It appears that Gamling is attempting to get your attention," he nodded to the pack of men behind her.

Bella turned her head and, indeed, Gamling stood apart from the younger men and motioned for her to join him. "So he is, so he is," she murmured with a smile. "Well, Aragorn, I shall see you at the camp. Tohanl hehatu tohatu."

"Namárië." With a nudge, he turned Roheryn and galloped to where Théoden, Éowyn, and Merry were waiting. Bella herself rode toward Gamling, joining the great group of armored men who were the Rohirrim. Most sat still, tensely waiting to set off, others were performing last-minute adjustments to their armor; tighten this, straighten that, etc. She reined in Celebrían next to Gamling and followed his gaze up towards Éomer, who was just now mounting Firefoot.

The Horse Lord turned to face the company of riders, eyes scanning over them with an intense, fierce look. "Now is the hour!" he shouted suddenly, turning Firefoot about to face them. "Riders of Rohan!" his eyes fell upon Bella as he spoke. She was gazing at him defiantly, angrily. _How dare she look at me like that? She has no reason to do so, nor to make such wild accusations as she did before. I have done nothing to wrong her, nothing!_ "Oaths you have taken!" _If Gamling were not so damn fond of her, she would no longer be riding with the Rohirrim. It matters not that she is a decent fighter and rider, nor even that she claims to be my friend. As if I could be friends with a woman, a mere stranger, no less! _"Now, fulfill them all for lord and land!" With a nudge to Firefoot's sides, Éomer led the Rohirrim and Bella to the front of the ranks, beginning the long journey to Minas Tirith.

Bella fell into place behind Éomer and beside Gamling, acknowledging neither; the smart to her pride still stung, but she began to feel regretful in the way she had handled the entire situation. As angry as she had been, Bella knew that she had spoken irrationally and out of pure spite. _Obviously he doesn't end up alone; I mean, he marries that Lothiriel woman and has a kid with her. But he's just so…ugh! I just don't understand why he would do this? Was it an accident? I don't understand him; he is so confusing. One minute he's my friend, the next he doesn't believe I'm able to do anything. Dad, what would you say if you were here?_

Éomer narrowed his eyes against the oncoming wind. _If that damn elf had not interrupted—sneaking about furtively in the stables—she would have gotten weapons. But I cannot be certain with her. Why can I not understand her? She is utterly absurd and infuriating! Attempting to comprehend her is as easy as receiving a straight answer from a wizard._ He continued in this quagmire of thought throughout the journey, finding more questions and very few answers, a dark shadow cast across his brow, mouth in a serious frown. _Alone, ha! I will not be alone; of all things, alone. She speaks much, but little of consequence. She is a nuisance, excess baggage, nothing more. _At the same time, he continued turning over her words in his mind, remembering each sentence, every bit of bitterness and piercing anger she had poured into each individual syllable. Her words had cut him, though he did not wish to admit it; for he did already feel alone, despite being surrounded by all the people and riders of Rohan. She had been the closest thing he had to a friend, to someone—other than Éowyn, perhaps—who was similar to him; though he did not know whether or not this was a good thing, he was forced to quietly acknowledge it within the deep recesses of his mind.

Gamling watched the two of them carefully, quietly. If he had not feared their anger (individual and combined), he would have laughed at the situation. _They fight like young children, ending spats just as quickly._ Their tension, he knew, would soon be dispelled; he merely needed to wait for one of them to put aside their pride. He shook his head to himself, _those two are the proudest and most pigheaded people in all of Rohan, perhaps even in all of Middle Earth._ The objects of his thoughts did not see the knowing smile which spread across his face, nor did they see it disappear as more thoughts crossed his mind. _Is Bella ready for a battle such as this? I know that she is able to duel and to fight…ah; perhaps I merely worry too much._ His eyes, however, remained tight and his mouth turned down in thought.

Aragorn and Legolas rode silently side by side. The elf focused upon the surrounding landscape, his far-seeing and piercing ice-blue gaze scanning the horizon, feeling the disturbance of the earth around him. He could feel something which he could not place: a strange change in the air, as if Middle Earth could sense the possibility, the very whisper of the idea that something would be different. The delicate threads which held this world in its fragile balance were thinning; he did not know the cause, but Legolas wondered now if this stranger, this girl had some part to play in this. The shadow and the doubt which had been growing in his mind since the Uruk-Hai encounter at Amon Hen felt stronger, and it surrounded the stranger who now rode behind the Third Marshal and within the Rohirrim. Aragorn was right: there was a strange darkness within herm and he could not grasp the exact timbre of that darkness; he did not understand the girl at all. While this frustrated and confused him deeply, it worried him more than anything else. Everything about her was closed, buried, with only small errant things coming to the surface. Across the wind, Legolas suddenly heard the distant songs of his people; he closed his eyes and listened, letting the faint voice wash over him, bringing him back to the woodland realm of Mirkwood.

Aragorn watched the girl amongst the Horse Lords; with her hair billowing out, unruly, about her face, she seemed as wild and free as the riders themselves. While he had no immediate affection for her—he hardly knew her—the Ranger did find Bella interesting; she was a puzzle, an enigma. His dark brow furrowed over his green eyes as he thought, _Certainly she is as coarse and rough as these Men of the West; it is therefore fitting that she be most comfortable with them. Where is she from? Where is this land that she calls home?_ He exhaled softly, almost grumbling as his mind twisted about with questions. _Her temper rivals that of the shieldmaiden's_, he remarked dryly to himself, glancing cursorily over at Éowyn. Her eyes met his briefly and then turned with a sudden blush._ Yes, that is indeed a problem, one to be dealt with later._ The affection from the lady of Rohan, he knew, was not one to be dwelt upon; it was a figment, a shadow. However, the battle at Minas Tirith was not. _This shall be one of the—if not the—greatest battle Middle Earth has ever seen, comparable even to that Last Alliance of Men and Elves so many ages ago. All depends upon Rohan giving speed to their horses and aiding Gondor in order for Minas Tirith to survive; and Frodo must not fail, he cannot fail. Where are they now, those two little hobbits?_ The Ranger scanned the horizon, as if willing the two forms to appear before his vision; but they did not.

The plains remained still and quiet as the immense war party from Edoras rode towards the main camp from hence they would ride to the great Gondorian capital of Minas Tirith.

_So, it is before the walls of Minas Tirith the doom of our time will be decided._


	22. Chapter 20: The Shadow of the Mountain

***Author's Note: I bet you all thought I'd died or something! Haha. Sorry for the major break between chapters; I really just do not get much time at all to write. My finals finish tomorrow and then I should hopefully get some time over my winter break to get some writing in; I really just need to sit down with the movies and the books in order to get real inspiration. Well, anyways, here's the next chapter; it's not my finest writing, but I kind of like it...especially the part about the Dreams. Happy reading!***

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In the shadow of a vast mountain, the Rohan war party stopped for the night. Bella felt stiff and sore; with a groan she dismounted Celebrían, who pawed at the ground, complaining of aching hooves. "Niye lowan el h'oka, wicicala." She squatted and then stood straight, stretching out her muscles.

"Bella," a gruff voice spoke from behind her; a voice she knew belonged to a pair of hazel-green eyes and a head of sun-bleached hair.

Fastening a scowl and gritting her teeth, she turned to face the Third Marshal of the Mark. "What?" she asked in a cold, flat voice.

Éomer had dismounted Firefoot—the beast's reins in hand—and was standing closer than she had expected; although her natural instinct was to back up, Bella stayed put. "Bella," he said again.

_That's my name, don't wear it out_, she thought sardonically. _Just spit it out and we can then go back to our usual 'cold shoulder' routine because I am not apologizing this time. You'll just have to take all that pride and chauvinistic bullshit and shove it right up your—_

"I wish to apologize for what happened before we set out from Edoras," he spoke slowly, carefully.

_What?! Where's a camera when you need one?_ Bella raised her eyebrow, arms folding across her chest; her face remained stony, unsympathetic as she relished in his clear discomfort. _This is probably utterly vindictive—hell, it is completely vindictive! But this is going to be good._

"What occurred…back in Edoras…in the stables," he cleared his throat, "I was not trying to deceive you—"

"But you don't like the idea of me riding to war."

"No.

_Of course not._ "Is it just because I'm a woman?"

"Bella, you must understand—"

"Is it," she spoke slowly, deliberately emphasizing each word, "because I am a woman?"

Éomer exhaled; this was not going the way he had wished. "That is a part."

Bella closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. _Calm, calm. Keep your cool; he is trying to apologize, after all. And you're not so hot with apologies either._ "Alright."

"What?" The Horse Lord was taken aback.

"Alright, I accept your apology."

"You are not angry?" Éomer was still tensed, as if waiting for her to suddenly whip out a sword and charge at him.

"Oh I'm mad as hell, but if there's at least one thing I've come to realize, it's this: as hard as adapting to life here is for me, it must be just as if not harder for you to try and adapt to me." Her momentary smile faded, replaced by a serious, almost poignant look; Bella took a step forward, closing the space between them, eyes tight. "You hurt me."

"Yes," his voice was low.

"Don't do it again," she whispered, holding out her hand. He took it slowly, carefully. A small smile appeared on Bella's face as she shook his hand. "C'mon," she jerked her head in the direction of the other riders behind her, "we should get back." Éomer let go and immediately headed toward King Théoden, falling into a quick, quiet, and serious conversation with his uncle. "Okay then," Bella said to herself with a smile. As much as she thought Théoden had been in the wrong to originally oppose helping Gondor, she liked the king; he showed himself able to see when he had made a mistake and not only that, but willing to follow someone else's opinion. _Perhaps that is also his failing: a lack of confidence within himself._ But she liked and admired him nonetheless, and Éomer's closeness to his uncle was clear. _He really does look up to him; his death is going to kill Éomer. It'll just be Death telling Éomer owes another marker, saying he came to collect._

Bella looked for Celebrían, whose reins she had released upon dismount; the horse was lounging nearby, not at all perturbed by the mountain's ominous presence. "Ghosts don't scare you, eh?" she asked, pulling a tent from her bag; the men of the Rohirrim had presented it to her during the first rest on the long ride to the camp. _I love those guys_, she thought. It was surprisingly easy for her to pitch the giant fabric and even easier to throw her things into various disorganized piles within it. "Done," she proclaimed, satisfied with the relative chaos. Stepping back outside, she found that Celebrían had wandered away from the tent, toward the mountain pass. "Hau" she shouted at the horse. Quickly, she sprinted to the horse, grabbing her bridle. "Inaji, inaji," she spoke soothingly, "Toka? Taku niye econ—"

She stopped suddenly, having glanced briefly toward the mountain; the pass seemed to grow larger, sucking her into it. A whisper filled her mind. _"Kiddo?" _Her heart stopped. She knew that voice.

"Daddy?" she whispered, a lump forming in her throat, causing it to throb chokingly.

_"Kiddo?"_ She thought she could see something glimmering there within the pass, something that looked an awful lot like—

"Bella?" someone grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her back. "What are you doing?"

Gamling was holding tightly to her arm, looking into her eyes with fatherly concern. "Bella, are you alright?" She wondered what her face looked like; it felt frozen, numb, like she'd been doused in icy water. Bella closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "What were you thinking, Bella?" Gamling asked worriedly; he reminded her of her own father, what his dominant concern.

"I'm fine," she spoke quickly, blinking rapidly, dispelling the voice from her thoughts. "It's just this place," Bella continued, motioning toward the pass. Celebrían had ceased walking into the mountain, instead leaning her great head against Bella, giving a sad sniff. "Scio," she whispered. "Mis eya kasna." _You're not alone, girl; I really do miss him too, everyday._

"Perhaps you should eat something," Gamling suggested, still on edge by her strange behavior. He wanted to comfort her, but he was not sure exactly how to do that; he did not know what was appropriate, nor how it was she might respond.

With her eyes closed, head resting against the horse's nose, Bella looked tired, mentally exhausted. Then she smirked and looked up at Gamling. "As long as Éowyn's not cooking," she laughed, the usual spark returning to her eyes. Gamling laughed heartily along with her.

"No, I am not," spoke a stiff voice; Éowyn stood watching the two of them, arms crossed, mouth in a hard line.

"Evening, Éowyn," Bella smiled awkwardly, uncomfortable under the wide-eyed, hostile stare of the shieldmaiden.

"Gamling, my uncle wishes to speak with you within his tent."

"Yes, m'lady," Gamling bowed, touching Bella's arm in a fatherly fashion as he left. Bella smiled after him, giving a comforted sigh before turning back to Éowyn; she was still glaring at her.

"What?!" exclaimed Bella, exasperated.

"Why is it that you have packed your armor and weapons?" she demanded, arms folded across her chest.

"Because I'm riding with the Rohirrim into battle," Bella replied, confused by the question. "You know this, Éowyn: it's why you're angry with Éomer."

"You did not believe my brother when he said that you would be permitted to go? That you, a stranger, would be allowed to fight as one of the Rohirrim?" Éowyn mocked.

"Of course I did." _After his apology, there is no way that he's just jerking me around; and if he is, then I will make his life a living hell. _"And you should have as well; he knows that I am tough enough, that I am a decent enough fighter, that I won't give up—"

"He knows the same of me and yet I am forced to remain here!"

_Oh please, like you'd just stay here. Why are you complaining to me when you're just going to ride to Minas Tirith_ _anyway?_ "He also knows that I do not take no for an answer. I do not care if Théoden himself were to order me; I would rather face insubordination and treason than be left behind."

"You are that desperate for glory?" a sneer twitched about Éowyn's mouth.

Bella's face became set, serious. _Is that really all she can think about, besides Aragorn, obviously?_ "I do not ride to war for glory and honor; I am not so shallow." Her words cut at Éowyn, who flinched visibly. "I seek only to defend the place that you all love, that I have come to love as a home. I ride to war to show there is still strength left in the world of men and women, that we would rather go with our boots on than roll over and be exterminated." _As you should too._ She took several steps forward, standing a few inches taller than the shieldmaiden; Éowyn twitched slightly, but held her ground. "I do not ride to war seeking that which is intangible and fleeting. Glory, as you call it, can be won and lost in the same single moment. But the land, the earth, and the people? Those never fade; those are the things you hold onto. Not glory and war and certainly not," Bella glanced swiftly at Aragorn, "hero worship."

Éowyn's lips thinned, "I know not of what you speak."

"No, I'm sure you don't," Bella laughed humorlessly, eyes hard.

Éowyn opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped by Éomer's sudden appearance. "Our uncle wishes you to see if the riders at the foot of the mountain require any assistance, now." She bowed, an angry glint in her grey eyes, before stalking off towards the lower camp. Éomer nodded to Bella before he walked off to where Firefoot stood, several feet away. Firefoot and Celebrían were standing beside each other, calming looking at their respective masters; the other horses were pawing at the ground, whinnying nervously and some even thrashing about in protest against their handlers.

"The horses are restless, and yet the men are quiet," a low, silken voice said beside Bella.

She jumped, turning around to find Legolas standing beside her, Gimli at his side. "Give a girl some warning, Legolas! You scared the living daylights out of me," Bella laughed slightly, a hand at her chest.

"My apologies, Bella," Legolas replied, eyes narrowed and he looked about the camp, watching the horses and the men.

"They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," Éomer approached, Firefoot's saddle in his hands. He looked at Legolas as he spoke, answering the elf's unspoken question. The four of them looked towards the narrow pass, mist shrouding where the treacherous road ended.

"That road there," Gimli spoke, eyeing the pass warily, "where does that lead?"

Legolas stiffened. "It is the road to the Dimholt," his eyes searched the rocks, seeing something that the others could not, "the door beneath the mountain."

"None who venture there ever return," Éomer added. With a final look at the pass, he said, "That mountain is evil."

"Evil?" Bella countered, "You mean haunted, right?"

"Aye, that I do. What matter is the wording? They are the same."

"Not true, not true at all," she shook her head, but then checked herself. "Oh, well, alright, I understand that in your culture, ghosts and such are probably a bad, evil thing; in mine, spirits are a good thing, they are welcomed."

"Éomer!" Théoden and Gamling were gazing at the Third Marshal, motioning him over.

"Excuse me," he nodded and walked away, leaving Bella alone with Legolas; Aragorn had walked up and stood off the side with Gimli.

"How," Legolas asked, turning to face her, "could spirits and ghosts be a good thing?" His eyes were still narrowed, confused as to her reasoning. "To walk Middle Earth as a spirit is one of the greatest curses; to be haunted by such beings is just as a cruel of a punishment."

"Well, you see," Bella began, searching about for a place to begin; but as she compiled her thoughts, her eyes landed upon Aragorn. The Ranger was standing at the edge of the pass, a strange, unfocused look in his eye; his body leaned toward the dangerous road, as if it were calling to him. Bella opened her mouth to call out to him when Gimli beat her to it.

Clapping his hand against Aragorn's side, Gimli spoke gruffly, "Aragorn!" The Ranger jumped in surprise at the dwarf's touch. "Let's find some food," Gimli continued. Shaking his head, Aragorn followed the dwarf away from the mountain.

"Bella?" Legolas lowered his eyes to meet hers.

"Sorry," she said, turning back to face him, "I was momentarily distracted. What did you ask? Oh yeah, about the ghosts and spirits. Well, you see, the thing is that, in my culture, you are deeply tied to the land and to everything around you; basically it's all about the interconnectivity and interdependency of all life. So, when someone dies, he or she becomes part of everything around us; that person lives on within everything and everyone, they don't ever actually leave. Again, that can also tie to why there is no goodbye in our native language."

"So how is it that the images of the deceased play a role within this tale?" Legolas inquired; he was nodding his head, absorbing and processing every bit of information she was giving him.

"Well, seeing a spirit or having a Dream or Vision means that you are in true harmony and contact with _Wakan Tanka_—the Great Mystery or Great Spirit—with all of life around you. For _Wakan Tanka_ exists within everything; it is everything, if you understand what I mean."

"What do you mean when you say: a Dream?" he could hear the capitalization in her tone.

"Dreams are very powerful things; they are when one's mind, body, and spirit become one and are most attuned to _Wakan Tanka_ which runs through and makes up everything; you, me, even Gimli and Éomer. Having a Dream means experiencing what is usually a vision of past, present, sometimes even future."

"Have you ever experienced a Dream?"

"Nah," she laughed, "I've never had one of those; just the usual meaningless things. But," she said, laughter dying down, "my father said he had one once."

"What was it about?"

Bella frowned, looking off into the distance. "He never told me; said that he'd tell me sometimes later, but that it was 'not yet time.' However, he was killed before I could find out."

Legolas nodded wisely, his eyes filling with ancient understanding. "I shall speak it yet again: your people are very wise, Bella."

She clapped his arm, "But not _nearly_ as wise as the Elves. C'mon, perhaps you should join your comrades; I must settle Celebrían or she'll be none too pleased with me." The elf bowed lightly, turning gracefully on his heel to follow after Aragorn and Gimli. Bella rubbed her eyes and raised her arms above her head, stretching them up. _Why do I get the feeling that tonight is going to be a long night?_


	23. Chapter 21: 300

**Author's note: Reports of my disappearance are grossly exaggerated. :P Just kidding. I apologize for another long wait for a chapter. This one took me a while because I kept changing what it was that occurred within the scene; in addition, I had to brush up on some research and literature for this chapter. The next few chapters shall also take a while as the Battle of Pelennor Fields shall soon be upon us! :D**

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The embers of the fire were burning low in the starlight; the camp was still, quiet, as if a silencing blanket of tension had settled over the men. Bella sat with her arms draped atop her bent knees, gazing into the red coals, not really thinking, just breathing in and out steadily. The sick, cold feeling of apprehension which had settled within her stomach had not abated and kept making a dry lump appear in her throat, which she constantly swallowed back.

_Merry ran out—excited as a child on his birthday—clad in child's armor, a rusty sword in his hands. With giddy delight, he swung it about before a female voice chided him, "To the smithy, go!" Éowyn pushed him gently off, watching with a smile as he ran lightly and happily away._

_ "You should not encourage him," spoke a gruff voice disapprovingly. Éomer turned from where he sat with several of the other men from the Rohirrim, his brow low over his eyes, shading them from view._

_ "You should not doubt him," Éowyn replied coolly; the flush and glow which had been upon her cheeks disappeared rapidly as her smile faded, replaced by a haughty frown._

_ "I do not doubt the strength of his heart, merely the reach of his arm," his tone grew lighter as the sentence progressed, ending it with a small laugh. The men around him chuckled as well—anything to take their minds off of the impending battle; even Bella could not help a snicker which escaped her._

_ "Why should Merry be left behind? He has as much cause to go to war as you!" Suddenly Éowyn's voice dropped low, as she—Bella knew—spoke no longer about Merry, "Why can he not fight for those he loves?"_

_ For a moment, Éomer sat, frowning off into the distance; then he stood and turned to face his sister, advancing upon her as he spoke, "You know as little of war as the hobbit." Bella stiffened as she listened, still gazing into the fire. "When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight?"_

_ Silently Bella answered the question to herself, knowing that Merry would defeat the odds and fight bravely, along with Éowyn. She knew that she should be angry with Éomer for what he was now saying, but deep down Bella knew he was right. It worried her—the horrors of true battle—and having him speak these things aloud only increased her own doubt and unease._

_ "He would flee," Éomer continued in a low voice, "and he would be right to do so." Bella could hear Éowyn's sharp intake of breath contrasted against her brother's own steady and calm breathing. "War is the province of men, Éowyn."_

_She herself closed her eyes, feeling the angry bile rise, when a thought came suddenly into her mind: he says this, not to pull rank or anything like that, but because he cares. As hard as it is for new, inexperienced soldiers to fight in war, how hard is it for those such as him? Those who have seen battles, have seen comrades and family members die before their very eyes? Or perhaps he is just a hardass._

_Éowyn stomped off in irritation; Éomer huffed out all the air that had been in his lungs; Bella did not move, merely continuing to gaze into the fire, watching the flames dying, slowing turning to embers. The Horse Lord sat down beside her, she not speak._

"_I am not sorry for what I just spoke to my sister," Éomer's voice was low, the firelight throwing dark shadows across his face._

"_I know you're not."_

Bella rubbed her eyes, tracing out the hollow beneath her lower lids; pulling back her hands and running them through her hair, she felt a nudge against her back. With a start, she turned to find Celebrían's nose several inches from her face. "Celebrían!" Bella gasped. "What are you doing over here? Toka?" The horse nodded toward the mountain, a sad whinny escaping. "Scio, puella". _But we aren't following Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli to the Dimholt._ "Ukitawa oyanke kici Rohirrim. Tuwa hecha ekta gnake Éomer," she added with a laugh, nudging Celebrían playfully. _Hell, I'm probably the only one who does challenge him on a regular basis; go figure._

Gamling sat down quietly beside Bella, listening to her speak words he did not understand. "Are you nervous?"

Bella sighed, "Yeah, but that's normal, right? I mean, everyone gets anxious, especially before going out to fight a battle."

"Yes, but this is no ordinary battle. There is very little likelihood that we shall achieve victory," his voice trailed off into a whisper on the last sentence.

A thought came to Bella, "But there is a chance for glory and immortality."

"Glory? Bella, what are you—"

"I'm not thinking about doing anything stupid or reckless tomorrow—"

"Other than participating, one would assume," Spoke a voice behind her; several of the riders, with whom she had traveled and fought with prior to Helm's Deep, walked over, taking places around the fire. The one who had spoken began again, "You speak the same as the Lady Éowyn."

_Nuh-uh!_ Bella felt slighted by the comparison. "She and I are nothing alike; Éowyn wants renown and glory just for herself, and merely for the purpose of having it." _What would she do with it anyway? It's not exactly a plaque or anything that she can hang on a wall. What I really think she wants is to just be a man—good song, by the way. Wow, I just did a 'by the way' to myself, good one, Bella. But, I mean, hell, I don't act like a 'proper lady', but at least I'm happy with who I am; I'm not trying to be anyone other than me…well, except for the whole fighting in the middle of a fictional war part; that's not exactly an everyday activity for me._

"If that is the case, then why do you seek to fight tomorrow? Why do you speak of glory and immortality, as the Lady Eowyn would and frequently has?"

"I was not speaking of it in the lusting manner which she does, if that makes any difference to you whatsoever," she replied exasperatedly. "I merely made the remark in reference to a story from my world; well, I mean it did actually happen thousands of years ago, so it's more history than a story. But, yeah, sorry, I'm babbling…"

The air around the firelight suddenly changed, charged with an almost childlike excitement that cut through the tension like a knife. Each man who had sat down huddled closer, leaning in towards Bella, faces eager; those who stood turned their faces down toward her, their attention fully diverted. "Well," said one of the men, "are you not going to tell us the story?"

Bella looked over at the man's face; battle-hardened and worn, it held not the look of anxiety, trepidation, and fear it had moments ago. Instead, there was a glimmer of something…was it hope? Excitement? She could not place it, but suddenly felt great sympathy for him. _Wakte oglaka_, she thought. _War stories._ "It's a part of our history that a small force of Spartan soliders—"

"Spartan?"

"Sparta is a city in the great land of Greece. It's a _long_ way from here. The Spartans were known for their bravery and proficiency in battle; they were legendary. It was said they were descended from the strongest and greatest hero who ever lived: Heracles, supposedly the son of Zeus, the king of their gods."

"How strong?"

She smiled, "Strong enough to defeat all of Mordor singlehandedly." All the men began to whisper amongst themselves, some excited, some disbelieving. "Whether or not that is true, the Spartans were truly some of, if not the, greatest warriors to ever live and fight and die. And one of their greatest triumphs was at a place called Thermopylae which, in Greek, translates as—"

"Greek?" asked a younger rider.

"Probably the language they speak, you idiot," chided an older rider, whom Bella recognized as Erkenbrand, lord of the Westfold of Rohan.

"Hey," she came to the young man's defense, "no need to be rude about it. He doesn't know, so that makes it a valid question." Bella turned to the young man and smiled, "What's your name?"

"Éothain, m'lady." The other men began to laugh and whistle at the young man's folly: for referring to Bella with a title.

She groaned internally, twitched infinitesimally, and leaned towards Éothain; the lad seemed only a few years older than herself. "C'mere," Bella curled her forefinger, beckoning him closer to her; he did, slightly on-guard, not understanding the Rohirrim's laughter. When their faces were inches away, she whispered, "You get one warning." Then, without warning, she cocked her fist back and swiftly made contact with the youth's jaw. "That was it," Bella laughed. The men of the Rohirrim laughed loudly, some clutching their stomachs, others rocking back and forth; a few lifted Éothain back to his feet, sitting him down and clapping him on the back cheerfully. _Only men can take a punch and not throw a fit over it. Got to love 'em._ "Now that that's over with, yes, Eothain, Greek is the language that the Spartans speak. In this language, Thermopylae literally means "hot gateway" or "The Hot Gates." It is named thus because of hot springs which can be found there. Thermopylae is a narrow pass within which a smaller army could more effectively fight a larger one; this is was Leonidas, the King of Sparta, decided. Word was sent to him of a massive army that was marching from the land of Persia to Greece, to conquer the entire land and all its peoples. Xerxes, the Persian king, fancied himself to be a god, and therefore had the right to conquer all of the known world. I suppose, he's not unlike the Dark Lord Sauron, but without any sort of magic attached to him."

Gamling and several other older men of the Rohirrim nodded grimly at the remark, shifting in their seats. "Well," Bella continued, "when King Leonidas found out about this, he realized that in order to save his land and protect his people, the Spartans would have to face the Persian force. However, as it was the month of the Carneia—a festival to the gods—he was forbidden from any sort of military action, thus preventing him from taking his full force to halt the Persian advance; instead, he took only his finest, his personal guard: the 300."

"Only three hundred?" questioned Erkenbrand. "Against, you said, a large force of an enemy? How large was this enemy?"

"If I recall correctly, the Persians numbered to one million, maybe more."

A large amount of muttering and whispering ensured. "Impossible," grumbled one soldier. "No army could ever amount to that much."

"All of Middle Earth would be destroyed if such an army were to walk its lands!"

"I think," Gamling's voice shouted over the sea of mutterings, "that perhaps we should let Bella return to continuing this tale."

"Thanks, Gamling," she smiled kindly and gratefully; he nodded in return. "Anyway, as I was saying, King Leonidas was only able to take a small fighting force to defend Thermopylae. However, he knew the terrain of the Hot Gates would be to his advantage because it is a very narrow pass, in which the Persians would not be able to hit them with their full army; they would be forced to funnel themselves into smaller segments. Leonidas and his men could create a wall of soldiers in a formation they called the phalanx; I suppose it's something similar to taking your force—on foot, of course—and pitting it against a significantly larger Orc force—"

"Like the one we are to face tomorrow," mumbled Eothain. Quickly he looked at Bella, almost flinching apologetically for interrupting.

Bella only nodded graciously, "Yes, something like that. But, add the element of the terrain; at the Phocian Wall—the narrowest part of that already narrow pass—the Spartans could effectively funnel the Persians so that their superior numbers would be of no help to them. The Persians were forced to turn their massive numbers into sets of small waves. It is said that before the battle, the Persians sent emissaries to the Spartan encampment, to discuss the possibility of there being no conflict. Of course, Leonidas refused to surrender—when ordered to lay down his arms, he actually challenged the Persians to "Come and get them"; the Spartans didn't believe in that, you see. Their code in battle was 'no retreat, no surrender'; it is said that the last words that Queen Gorgo, Leonidas' wife, spoke to him were, 'Come back with your shield, or on it.' They were a brave people, a warrior people."

"Are they your people?" asked Gamling.

"One of them," she replied with a smile and nod. "My father was Greek, Spartan actually."

"Did he fight with these 300 men? With your king?"

"No, no," Bella laughed. "This battle happened thousands of years ago, long before any of us were born; but it is considered one of the greatest and most important in history." _Well, I could be fibbing, but my father at least thought so. He was always a Herodotus nut, in addition to everything else._

"My mistake, Bella; please continue."

"Well, on the first day of the battle, the Spartans defeated the Persians to such a degree that Xerxes—the Persian leader, if you recall—is said to have started up from his seat three times; he was watching the battle from above, you see."

"He did not fight himself?" questioned Erkenbrand, brow knit in disbelief.

"No he did not; Xerxes was not one to fight when he could merely watch."

"That is who the Persians called their king? A coward?" Gamling seemed unable to believe such a thing.

"The Persians are not the only men to have a leader who does not fight," Bella reminded him. "Is it not true that the Steward of Gondor does not enter battle? Unless I have been misinformed…"

"You have not been misinformed," Erkenbrand replied. "Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, does not fight with his men when the time calls for arms."

_I didn't think so. It's not like Tolkien goes into great detail about Denethor and any military exploits he might have had, but, in reading, his character didn't seem the fighting type._ "Yes, well, anyway, Xerxes was so furious with this that he immediately sent out his best fighting force against the Spartans: the Immortals, an elite corps of 10,000 men on their own. Now, they weren't actually immortal at all; it was just that every killed, seriously wounded or sick member of this force was immediately replaced with a new one, maintaining the cohesion of the unit and therefore making it appear as though they were invincible. But Leonidas outsmarted them: he used the tactic of feigning retreat, so that then, when the Immortals ran after the Spartans, they turned on them and killed every last one."

"All? You mean all 10,000?"

"Yes, all 10,000 of the Immortals were slaughtered." The men whispered about again excitedly, impressed. "The Spartans won the first day, defeating many and losing very few, if any. On the second day, Xerxes again marched his infantry, his foot soldiers, against the Spartans; he foolishly underestimated them, believing that—because the Spartans were so few in numbers—they were disabled by wounds and would no longer be able to resist the greater force of the Persians. However, the infantry fared no better than it had the day before; Xerxes ordered them, unable to overcome the Spartans, to retreat back to the Persian encampment."

"They still could not overpower them?!" shouted a rider in amazement.

"These Spartans sound naught like mere ordinary men!" cried another. Laughter broke out amongst them; even Bella began to laugh with them. Their laughter drew a small crowd, joining in the listening of the tale of those Spartans who had fought so long ago in a land they knew nothing of; the entire Rohirrim now sat in a tight circle about the fire, rejuvenated by one of the riders. A head of long blonde hair and wide blue eyes poked out from one of the tents, before disappearing back within its depths, giving a huff of annoyance; the men only laughed harder and smiled wider, the tension fully dissipated in the atmosphere.

A second head of sunbleached hair and a pair of hazel-green eyes emerged silently from a father away tent; the Horse Lord had listened furtively within the confines of his quarters, but the sound of the laughter and the draw of the story could no longer keep him away. Quietly and carefully, he passed through the flap, leaning his back against a nearby tree, watching and listening avidly. Only Gamling noticed his presence, nodding slightly to acknowledge his leader; Eomer nodded in return, eyes flicking back to Bella as she began speaking again.

"In the Persian camp, Xerxes was just so frustrated by how the Spartans were able to constantly defeat his larger and—as he saw it—better force, that he felt genuine fear that he could maybe lose this battle. But then something happened that neither the Spartans nor the Persians expected: a man came to the Persian camp, to Xerxes, as a traitor to the Greeks."

"A traitor?!" roared a member of the Rohirrim; his cry of disbelief and disgust was echoed by all the other members who sat or stood round the fire, round Bella. Off to the side, Eomer's chest rumbled as he released a hiss and growl of anger.

Bella nodded soberly, "Yes, a traitor by the name of Ephialtes. He went to Xerxes and told him of a hidden goat path, by which he could outflank the Spartans, thereby surrounding them and rendering them helpless."

"How could anyone turn on his own country like that?" Eothain was dumbfounded.

"Just look at Grima Wormtongue," replied Gamling, an edge to his voice. "That man turned on Rohan and all the free peoples of Middle Earth to serve Saruman."

"Yes," Bella agreed, "Ephialtes, like Wormtongue, turned on and betrayed his own people for one thing: the promise of—and his desire for—a reward."

"What kind of reward?"

"Are you asking about Ephialtes or Wormtongue?"

"And how could _you_ even expect to know what it was that Wormtongue sought as a reward from Saruman?" growled Eomer. Bella started, turning around at the sound of his voice; she had not realized that the Horse Lord had been listening to her tale, nor for how long either.

_Not by any means that you'll ever hear about._ "It's not particularly hard to guess what it was that Wormtongue was after," she replied slowly, kindly; for a moment, her eyes flickered to Eowyn's tent and then back to his eyes. When he did not respond, she continued, "Ephialtes wanted reward in the form of precious stones and metals, monetary payment in other words. Whatever it was that was promised to him, I can tell you that he never received it; he travelled the rest of his life trying to escape the bounty that had been put on his head. He was eventually killed by a man called…oh what was his name? It started with an "A," I think. Athenades! That's it: Athenades of Trachis. Interestingly enough, he was not killed for the bounty, but for a totally unrelated reason; I can't remember what it was, but I remember that Athenades was paid the bounty nonetheless."

"He certainly received his fitting comeuppance for betraying those Spartans," Erkenbrand grumbled.

"Indeed he did," agreed Gamling. "Now, Bella, what happened next with the Spartans?"

"At daybreak on the third day, the Phocian outposts which Leonidas had had set up were killed by a volley of arrows from the Persians. When the Spartans found out about this, they summoned an impromptu war council to discuss what was to be done. Leonidas concluded to make their last stand at Thermopylae; they still had their code, you see: no retreat, no surrender. In the morning, they advanced to a wider part of the pass to meet the Persians, with the intent of slaughtering as many as they possibly could, until the end. When the Spartans launched their assault, they fought with their spears; and when every spear had been shattered, they switched to swords. Each side fought over the bodies of the honored dead, particularly Leonidas, who fell on before the battle had finished; the Greeks kept his body close as they continued to fight." Bella took a moment, a deep breath and a sniff. _Why is it that this story always chokes me up? Oh wait, I know: it's because you always used to tell it so dramatically, Daddy. If you were here, you'd be telling this so much better than me, but I hope I'm not getting anything wrong here._

"They, um, fought with every last ounce of breath and strength that they had. _Here_," she quoted, "_they defended themselves to the last, those who still had swords using them, and the others resisting with their hands and teeth_. But, they couldn't defeat the Persians because they just kept coming and coming. Finally, when the Persians destroyed the Phocian Wall, breaking through what physical defense was left, they rained down arrows until every last Greek was dead."

"That's it?" Éothain asked. "They died?"

"Yes, they died, all of them; it was a defeat for the Greeks. But the Persians eventually lost the war; the impact of Thermopylae was great enough to bring all the Greek nations together as one force, making them a formidable power against the Persians. When it finally came to the great battles at Salamis and Plataea, the Persians fell…hard; and the sacrifice at Thermopylae became arguably one of the greatest battles in my people's history. Sometimes," she turned to Éothain, looking right into his brown eyes, "it is the sacrifices we make which show our true courage, that make us great, that grant us honor and glory. It is not merely fighting in battle, it is your motives. Leonidas was fighting to defend his lands, his people, his whole world; much like you, all of you," Bella concluded, looking across at all the faces illuminated by the firelight; silence descended upon the company.

"I think," Éomer spoke, "that it is now time to rest. Tomorrow the battle shall be upon us and we shall all need our strength." Fabric rustled, voices muttered, and footsteps patted off into various tents. Only Gamling, Bella, and Eomer remained around the flickering flames. Finally, however, even Gamling got up, squeezed Bella lightly upon the shoulder, and went into his tent, leaving Bella and Eomer alone around the fire.


	24. Chapter 22: Talks and Traditions

_**A/N**_: Again I apologize profusely for the long wait for this chapter. To those of you who have still stuck around and are reading this, I send many mental waves of love and appreciation your way. I will not lie, this was a difficult chapter to write because I went through scenario after scenario both in my head and on paper. It's hard to write these two when they're alone sometimes because of their mutual prides and tempers, but I've finally given them a moment of relative calm. Anyways, I will warn that the next few chapters (which I hope to publish to this site relatively close to each other) will not only be long in coming but fairly long and possibly violent. Pelennor Fields is a HUGE segment and will take some time to write. So, please, I beg with you again to bear with me and the relatively long periods between chapters. Anyways, the poem recited here is a relatively famous one by a Sioux leader known as Yellow Hawk and the Oracle quote is from the Historia by Herodotus.

--

"Why did they even go?" Éomer asked suddenly.

"Sorry?" Bella snapped her head up, having been gazing into the flames, lost in thought.

"Why did the Spartans even go to fight? There was no chance of success against such a superior force, no matter how great their fighting skill."

"Well that seems a ridiculous question, especially coming from you, Éomer," Bella's eyes narrowed in confusion and disbelief. "I mean, aren't we going to do the same thing tomorrow?" Éomer did not respond and she sighed, gazing again into the flames. "Actually, Leonidas knew that he would not survive the Thermopylae campaign, genuinely knew, I mean."

"How?"

"According to the legend, he went to the Oracle at Delphi; the Oracle was a woman, a priestess, to whom the gods would channel prophecies which she would then relay to the people about whom they were made. Usually the person would ask a question and she would respond with the answer. Anyway, he went to the Oracle and asked what it was that would happen with the Persians declaring war on Greece; he asked what could be done."

"Did she tell him?"

"Yes, of course."

"What did she say?"

"_What did she say, Daddy? What did she say?!" Her shout was hoarse and cut off by a quick, phlegm-ridden cough._

"_Calm down, kiddo! You're supposed to be resting, remember? The doctor wouldn't want you getting all worked up."_

"_But I wanna know what happened when he went to see the Oracle! Did she tell him that he was gonna win? Did she? Did she?"_

"_If you don't calm down right now, kiddo, then I'm not going to tell you the story and you will have to go right to bed." Her father closed the great book of Herodotus' Historia and lifted his eyebrow daringly. "You understand?"_

_Bella pouted, "Yes, Daddy." After a moment of silent contrition, she smiled, "So what did she say to him."_

"_You really want to know?"_

"_Yes!"_

"_Alright, I'll tell you."Slowly he re-opened the book to where he had previously left off._

Bella sighed and whispered, seeing the words before her eyes as she stared into the fire, "The Oracle said to him,

'_O ye men who dwell in the streets of Lacedaemon!  
Either your glorious town shall be sacked by the children of Perseus,  
Or, in exchange, must all through the whole Laconian country  
Mourn for the loss of a king, descendant of great Heracles.'_

So you see," Bella cleared her throat, returning her voice to normal level, "Leonidas knew what was to befall him at Thermopylae. That's why all the men he chose already had born sons to carry on their family names and lines."

"Did Leonidas himself have a son?"

"Yes, he did: Pleistarchus, by his wife, Gorgo. According to history and legend, she herself was a very powerful figure in Sparta." Bella glanced sideways at the Horse Lord, a small smile playing upon her lips.

Éomer let a small huff, almost like a snort, and rolled his eyes swiftly and furtively to himself. _Of no doubt he would. Must this girl take every moment to try and infuriate me?_ Looking over across the hearth, he saw Bella smile to herself—shaking her head—returning to gazing into the fire. _Of course she must._ The heat from the flames was beginning to burn his eyes; instead, he turned his gaze leftward into the darkness of the mountain passage. An unintentional shiver travelled his spine. _Surely there is something malevolent about that pass, no matter what claims she has to the contrary. Who is she to make any claims about this land? She, who is a stranger to Middle Earth should have no knowledge of the dark places it holds; and yet, I do believe that at times she has knowledge of more than what she readily divulges._

"Éomer?" her voice cut through his tangled web of thoughts.

"M'lady?" he asked reflexively, head snapping up to look at her. Immediately catching his mistake, Éomer quickly spoke again, "My apologies, Bella; a momentary lapse. I know you are care not for formalities in being addressed.

Bella smiled, chuckling a little, "No problem, Éomer. At least you caught yourself."

"What would your plan have been in the event that I had not?"

"Oh I don't know," she stretched, "I would've thought of some appropriate punishment."

Éomer smiled slightly, letting one low chuckle escape him; he shook his head, trying to image Bella punishing _him_.

"Éomer?" her voice asked again in the same shy quietness and timidity that it had possessed before. He glanced at her again; her brow was furrowed in thought, eyes looking, but not really seeing him. "D'you…I mean, shit. Do you think that I'll survive tomorrow?" it was the one question she had been turning over in her mind since they had left Edoras. Bella had not dared as Gamling, for fear he would talk her out of going to Minas Tirith and make her even more anxious with his own worry added to her own. But she knew she could as Éomer; he was, after all, her friend, despite the fact he infuriated her most of the time. _But hey_, she reasoned, _most friends do anyways. Look at Legolas and Gimli_. She also knew he had seen many battles, many young and green riders going into battles; he would answer her honestly, frankly, maybe even harshly. But she needed that; she needed a "zero bullshit" answer.

The horselord's eyes widened infinitesimally in surprise. _Is she fearful of tomorrow's battle? This woman, fearful? That is certainly a new development of her own character and person._ He had heard her question many times, many different ways; young soldiers would whisper with more venerable riders, though more often with each other, and wonder at what glory would befall them—whether it be in victory or death. They would end the night proud and pleased with themselves, sure of some form of praise the next day; those older riders would watch silently, knowing full well what the next day would bring. But never, in all of Eomer's experience, had a rider asked his leader the question; most either respected or feared their leader too much, others had too much foolish pride. But here was Bella—a woman who never sought help, never resigned her pride, and who clashed with every norm and rule of society he had ever known—asking him clearly and bluntly whether or not he thought she would survive the campaign tomorrow in Gondor.

He looked into her blue eyes, seeing that fear, that question, reflected there; but, even further, he swore he saw that glint—that spark—of defiance which stared back at him. It seemed to say: _I care not what response you give me. The opinions of the outside world mean naught to me; either your assurance or lack of faith shall fuel my energies tomorrow. Be honest_. His mouth twitched minutely at the sight of that boldness; while not completely accustomed to the stranger's independence and different ways, he had certainly come to expect some things, and that defiance was one of them.

Bella felt as though she were being x-rayed under his gaze; Eomer's eyes bored into her own as he remained silent. She felt an awkward blush creep into her face at being scrutinized. _What is he looking for? What does he see? Why doesn't he say something?!_ A small note of panic went through her._ He really must not think that I am ready._ She remembered the time, some years ago, when she had demanded to be placed in the more intricate kickboxing class, thereby qualifying for more difficult matches, all because her instructor had told her she was "Not yet ready." Ever the stubborn girl she was, Bella had signed into the level anyway. The result was that within a week she sported a broken wrist and sprained ankle. _Starting too large and failing spectacularly. Is this just another one of those times?_ Bella hoped this was not the case, for the price, this time, was much greater than a few broken or sprained limbs.

"I think," Éomer finally spoke, "you shall fight well tomorrow." He nodded as if to emphasize his point.

"That's not an answer," she swallowed, a little annoyed at his attempt at avoidance.

"It is; while it may not be the answer you seek, it remains an answer nonetheless."

Bella rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance before swallowing again, fingers on the hilt of one of her knives. "What if I—" she stopped, shaking her head. "What do you do when someone dies?"

"Pardon?" he was surprised by her question.

"When someone dies, say, in battle, what do you do? What are your traditions or rituals?"

"Why do you ask such a question?"

"Curiosity."

Éomer sighed, taking a moment to think; he weighed the thought of answering carefully, knowing, as was usually the case with Bella, there was more to her question than she let the outside world know. "When one dies," he began, "the body is dressed in his finest armor and placed on a slab of stone within a tomb which has been hollowed out of a hill or knoll. The burial is attended by family and close companions—usually the man's fighting companions or those who were part of his _éored_."

"What's an _éored_?" Bella's tongue was hesitant over the word. _Better question: why is it I have never heard of it?_

"They are units of riders; think of the Rohirrim as an example."

"Oh," she blinked slightly. _Well that's a simple answer…and painfully obvious. Good job, Bella._ Looking back up at him with a serious expression, she said, "Continue, please."

"Yes, well, during the placement of the person within the tomb, it is customary among some that a song be sung in the old tongue." Bella nodded, taking in every word. "What of your people?" he asked. "What customs have you in caring for the dead?"

She coughed momentarily, "Well it depends on the person; some people have different customs than others. But, what you'll usually see is that the person will be placed in a coffin and buried in a grave while family and friends watch and, um, pray for their soul. Then, uh, after the grave in covered, a headstone will be placed on it with the person's name, dates of birth and death, and sometimes even a message like, "Beloved father" or whatnot…"

_Rain poured down; she was perfectly still, dripping from head to toe. The minister rambled on and on, his voice becoming a befuddling mess of sound. She was not listening; all she could see was the marble stone which sat before her, under the willow tree. She saw her father's name, the dates, and, finally, underneath these, were three words:_

"_Tohanl hehatu tohatu"_

_In her hands she felt the crystal container shaking; the white powder within showing through the clear sides. The minister had ceased speaking, looking at her expectantly, pity in his old brown eyes. The look made her angry, made her sad, made her want to cry, made her want to scream. Stepping forward, she took a deep, shaky breath and spoke._

"_O' Tunkasila Wakantanka_

_Ho naho tuwa mis tate el kin,_

_Niya tuwa ku wiconi makaowacaga kilyuha kin,_

_Naho mis. Mis cistila na hokesni._

_Mis cin nita wasake na woksape._

_Ayusta mis mani el hopa, na kagemita ista_

_Iho kin luta wimaheliyaya._

_Kagemita nape younihan kin wa uskekiya mis yuha_

_Kage na nugemita pestola naho honita._

_Kagamis pksape he ugnasmis okahnige takunlnis ospe kiyemita oyate._

_Ayusta ospewakiyemis wouspenis inahme el iyohile canwape na iya._

_Nita ola wasake el un isom taka isammita ciyawayasni, tka kize isomtakamita toka-misnala._

_Kagamis ohinni winiyela el hi el nita kici sapesni hapena owotala ista._

_Ca conj wiconi oiyokpaza, el oiyokpaza wimcheliyaya, woniya wakamita ugnas hi el nis cola istelya.__"_

_ The great lump in her throat made every syllable feel like a throat shot, but she took another difficult breath and repeated what she had said in English, as her father would have done, as her father would have wanted._

"_O, Great Spirit_

_Whose voice I hear in the winds,_

_And whose breath gives life to all the world,_

_Hear me._

_I am small and weak._

_I need your strength and wisdom._

_Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset._

_Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice._

_Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people._

_Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every rock and leaf._

_I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother,  
but to fight my greatest enemy - myself._

_Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes._

_So when life fades, as the fading sunset,  
my spirit may come to you without shame."_

_ She could not tell if she was crying or if it was just the torrential rain which continued to fall; vision almost completely blurred, she kissed the decanter before opening it up and throwing the ashes into the wind. Despite the rain, they flew off in every direction; she clutched her chest and let out a choking sob._

"Is that what happened with your father?"

"Sorry?"

"Never mind," Éomer thought better of his question.

"All I know is that when I die, I'm not going to be buried."

"You would deny yourself burial rites?" his eyes widened in shock.

"Not at all; but I won't be buried in the ground to rot and become bones. I want be burned."

"Burned?" Éomer's voice was shocked; women were only burned if they were accused truly of witchcraft or adultery or some other great crime at some point in their lifetime. The image of Bella being tied to a stake sent a surge of inexplicable anger through him.

"Yeah, burned on a funeral pyre—you know, cremated? Then I'd want my ashes spread somewhere pretty, or at some place that I loved. I mean, someone can make a gravestone or whatever, but I do _not_ want to go under the ground as a corpse. After the whole ceremony part is over, I want all my fam—…my friends, or whoever's there, to throw a party. Seriously, everyone can get a helluva lot of alcohol, get totally shit-faced, and enjoy life. I don't want anyone mourning or crying."

Éomer's eyes were now squinted, looking at her incredulously. "You are, without any doubt, the strangest, most unorthodox woman I have ever come across."

"Well, thank you, Éomer," she smiled. "You know," Bella continued, pulling out one of her knives and twirling it between her fingers, "in the Aboriginal culture—that a group of people from a land you've never heard of called Australia—they don't say someone's name after they have died. And I mean for the rest of time; the person's name is just never said, and I don't think they're ever even mentioned again."

"They are forgotten?"

"Oh no, not forgotten; just respectfully let go, I suppose."

"Do you follow such a custom?"

"Nah, you've heard me speak of my parents after all. I just thought it was an interesting custom." Bella began spinning the knife continuously, hearing the metal whip through the air; slowing down the weapon, she glanced up at the Horse Lord. He was staring fixedly at her, flicking only between her eyes and hands. "Do you find staring at me some form of entertainment?" her mouth formed into a half-smile, almost a smirk.

"Do you find the frivolous manner with which you entertain yourself with dangerous weapons a particularly safe habit? That is precisely how accidents occur."

She laughed, "Don't worry, honestly. I could spin these in my sleep." Éomer nodded, but his eyes kept staring at the knife in her hands. "But, if it bothers you that much," the knife stopped spinning and Bella placed it back within its boot holster, "I'll stop." He nodded to her in what she took as silent thanks.

The Horse Lord glanced up for a second, taking in the vastness of the night sky, watching as embers popped up from the flames, heading towards stars which twinkled against their dark backdrop. He stifled a yawn, jaw twitching a little. "Perhaps," he spoke, finally, turning his eyes back down to Bella's blue ones, "we should both consider getting some rest. It would be unwise to ride tomorrow without being in the topmost form, including an abundance of energy."

Bella nodded with a tired smile, though swallowing in what she hoped was a furtive manner, and stood, stretching her arms out. Éomer too stood, feeling his knees crack from sitting still for such a long period of time; with a nod towards Bella, he turned towards his own tent.

Celebrían was sleeping beside the entrance to her tent, silver body rising and falling beneath her blankets with each deep breath; Bella smiled widely at the sight. At the flap, she turned and called out, "Goodnight, Éomer, my friend," to his retreating back. He stopped and turned, several strands of hair blowing about his face in a sudden breeze so that she could not see its expression. When he did not say anything, she turned with a parting nod and smile, closing the flap behind her. Bella yawned, stretching out again before settling down onto the furs which were serving as her bed; she had to admit, they were actually quite comfortable. The anxiety in her stomach kept from sleeping for a while; Bella tossed and turned thinking about the coming battle. Finally, desperate for any form of sleep, she used an old trick her father had taught her, and began counting Orcs, which she slaughtered in thought. "One…two…three…four…five…" Bella whispered quietly until she was carried off in the arms of sleep.

Éomer had watched her look at him for a few moments, waiting for a response; he could only stare at Bella incredulously, completely dumb. It was not until she had turned, giving him a last nod and smile, and entered her tent when he was able to move; he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. The words she had spoken to him were simple, commonplace even, yet they were words he had not heard in some time. His name and the phrase "my friend" had never truly existed together within the same sentence; not from Gamling or even Éowyn, whom he was closer to than any other person in Middle Earth. "Goodnight," he managed to finally whisper at the closed flap, "Bella." He turned back towards his own tent, passing Firefoot, slumbering deeply beneath a myriad of horse blankets, besides a large shrub. At the flap of his own tent he stopped again, mentally finishing his statement, _my friend_. With a final sigh, he entered his tented quarters, took off his boots, and lay down upon the furs in the corner. The last thought in his mind was that of the faces of every person within his Rohirrim, even Bella hers was the last image he recalled before he fell into a sudden, deep sleep.


	25. Chapter 23: Red Dawn

A/N: I'M BACK! It feels like WAY too long since I last posted. This chapter and the two after it shall tackle the Battle of Pelennor Fields and a little bit of the aftermath in the Houses of Healing. These chapters took as much of my concentration, time, and effort as I could manage. School let out last week for the summer and--between constant job-hunting--I spent many days both reading the book, watching the movie, looking up stuff on the internet, etc. So, yeah, I was trying to be as thorough as possible. Honestly, it feels nice to have this segment out of the way; it was like the metaphorical elephant in the corner, constantly bugging me, lol.

**CHAPTER 23: RED DAWN**

"Bella, it is time to awaken," spoke a voice. It sounded odd and garbled in her semi-conscious state.

"Mmph…five more minutes…" she mumbled against the soft furs beneath her face.

"Bella, we have not the time for this!"

"Bugger off, Dad!" the words were practically inaudible as she was not only muttering, but with her face buried, most of the sound was muffled. Suddenly, she felt a sharp kick to her leg. Her father had never kicked her to wake her up; that realization broke her from exhaustion immediately. Quickly, Bella sat herself up and looked at her unknown assailant; Éomer stood, helm beneath his arm, with a frustrated expression on his face. "Why'd you kick me?" she demanded, words still slurred with sleep, as she rubbed her eyes, seriously contemplating kicking him back.

"If you wish to be left behind for the campaign, by all means stay here."

"What? No!" she started, rapidly scrambling to her feet. "No, no, no. I'm good. I'm up. Alright. I'm up. Let's go. Yeah, I'm good. I'm up."

"We break camp for Minas Tirith in an hour," Éomer replied gruffly, "so make yourself ready to depart. He turned, hiding the small smile which flitted across his face, and exited through the tent-flap.

Bella stretched, feeling the tightness in her muscles that only comes with being awoken suddenly from a deep slumber; her heart began to beat swiftly and erratically, her throat swelling with anxiety. _Today's the day. I'm going to fight at Pelennor Fields…at war._ War. It was such a small word, yet one that terrified her nearly senseless. In absolute silence, Bella changed; the jeans and tank top were abandoned to the knapsack, replaced by leather pants and a beige tunic. Overtop it she threw on the mail, hearing the metal rings _clink!_ together, shimmering like a silver river of metal; finally, she carefully suited up the bronze plates which had been sitting in a pile beside her makeshift bred, their surface perfectly reflecting the lantern which burned atop a fallen log. No light entered from the outside when Bella placed her knives in their holsters, strapping her new sword in at its hilt. With a deep breath, she blew out the lantern, feeling the darkness settle around her in the tense silence of the tent, and stepped out into the camp.

The sun had not yet risen, the last wisps of twilight clinging to the sky, not allowing the rays of pink which snaked their way up from the valley, like pale fingers. Celebrían was standing, still tied to her post, with her head held high; beside her in an unceremonious pile were the blankets beneath which she had slept. She looked at Bella as if to say, _Let's do this._ With a tired smile, Bella walked over to greet her, gently stroking the animal's side, allowing the soft hair to glide beneath her trembling fingers.

"Bella?" Gamling had appeared at her side, traces of dark circles beneath his eyes. Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, he smiled, "Perhaps you should saddle up and make ready. Pack up your horse lightly, for she shall need to be speedy on the battlefield."

With a nod and a swallow, Bella began going through the motions of readying Celebrían; nothing went through her head nor bubbled to her lips. Around her, thousands of riders performed the same duty: quietly saddling up their mounts, pushing away their fears and doubts. It was amidst a heavy gloom that the riders of the Mark made ready for their journey along the eastward road; almost every heart in the encampment felt heavy and many trembled in the shadow of both the mountain and what lay ahead. Finally, when she tugged the last strap, Bella gave her horse a great hug around its neck, tears stinging her dry eyes, "Miye tehila it a niye." _Always have and always will._ Briefly returning to her tent, she picked up the bow and its quiver in addition to her knapsack and supply of water; walking back out, she quickly and deftly loaded it to Celebrían's saddle before swinging herself up atop her oldest-living friend in either Middle Earth or her own home.

Riding past her still-pitched tent, Bella gave one last look to the passageway through the mountain, as if hoping to see the retreating figures of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli; but there were only the gray rocks and dead-looking brush upon the path. _Move swift, you guys. We'll need you out there._ Turning forward, Bella caught sight of Éomer up ahead atop Firefoot; he was an imposing sight to behold, sitting tall and proud against the paling sky, the horse's hair upon his helm blowing in the breeze. _Now that_, she thought with pride, a smile touching her eyes, _is a future king._ A little ways ahead of the Horse Lord sat the king upon his own majestic white horse, armor glimmering in the half-light. To his subjects, he seemed proud and tall, and they marveled at the sight of him; his stoic face seemed unafraid, unbent by the terrible possibility of death which awaited them all at Minas Tirith. Bella looked upon Théoden with wonder and sadness, knowing what was to befall the great, yet kindly king by the setting of the sun.

Nudging Celebrían gently, Bella trotted towards Éomer, weaving through riders both atop horse and on foot. When she reached him, they sat side-by-side, staring out at arriving morn, the camp below them stirring like a great ocean of life and tension, of man and beast. Opening her mouth to speak, Bella found herself merely gaping at the air; her throat was tight and no words came from her mind. "Bella?" Éomer suddenly spoke, breaking the uncomfortable mantle of silence which had been lying atop their shoulders. She turned to look at him, locking with his hazel-green eyes; they burned with determination behind the shining helm. One of the Horse Lord's hands twitched, reins slipping from between the fingers. "I," he began, reaching his hand toward her, "I—you do not have a helm."

"Oh…um, yes, I do, I'm just not wearing it," Bella swallowed, giving a short, half-hearted laugh.

"It would be wise to don it now, in case the thought slips from your mind at a later, more crucial time."

"Alright," she replied in a quiet voice, reaching behind her into the knapsack, pulling forth the domed metal, which Gamling had included with her new armor-set, and placed it over her hair, which had been pulled back in a low ponytail. "There," with a quick, firm tug, she adjusted the piece. "How does it look?"

"Suitable and sturdy, Bella; it shall serve you well today," his eyes still bored into hers, unwavering in the silent moments which followed; she felt her face reddening beneath his gaze, though she was unsure as to why. Éomer stared deep into her blue eyes, trying to tell her the words which his mouth could not form. _Good luck, Bella, my friend. Today you and I ride to a battle from which I believe neither of us shall return. May we both find a place beyond this veil of life where we may once again meet._

Suddenly Théoden raised his hand, waving it forward in a wide motion, directing the troupe onward; silently, the host of men—those valiant riders of the Mark—began to move, emptying their large encampment. Behind them, the still-pitched tents, empty of all inhabitants, seemed an eerie image. From somewhere behind her, Bella heard a trumpet sounding, signaling the end of the force. _That was sooner than I had expected; perhaps this really is a small muster. I mean, in the book, yes, Tolkien talks about them being underhanded, but I never really realized by how much. I guess it takes actually being there to understand._ Over the rippling river which had bordered their place of rest, the Rohan force rode, each rider silently saying goodbye to their homeland, to their loved ones, and to hope. Each face seemed to bear the face of a man who goes in search of death, forever wandering the world without hope or cause, except to taste bitter regret and blood upon steel.

Past the deepening shadows of the forests they rode; over the rolling hills of Gondor; and through the golden plains which stretched for miles before their eyes. Once or twice they came upon lone, wild-riding men, who brought word of enemies assailing the east-borders of the Mark, of hosts of Orcs marching in the Wold of Rohan; yet the force rode on, unhindered by these reports, despite their gravity and grievous nature. Bella felt her heart leap into her chest at the words the men had brought. _So it's not just Minas Tirith that's under attack? Sauron has forces hitting Rohan too? No! That's…that's not fair!_ She looked to her left, to Éomer, her eyes pleading with a silent cry of, "Help!" Around them, the lands were still and grey, fires having been quenched, and the shadow deepened.

"Ride on," he replied in a whisper to her. "Ride on for it is too late now to turn aside; it haste now that we need. _Need brooks no delay, yet late is better than never_ and perchance in this time shall the old saw be proved truer than ever it has before. So, ride on." To his left, Théoden spurred his horse faster, quickening the pace of the massive force, the sound of their hooves like constant, ever-present thunder. Across the wind which blew into his face, Éomer could feel the hot sting of acrid smoke and the foul scent of Orc; yet there was also a breath of salt from the South, the subtle hint of the sea. _Corsairs of Umbar_, he though with sudden dread. _So, those filthy sea-rats too have joined the battle on the side of the shadows. Let them come; I do not fear death by their hand, nor by the black hands of Sauron's Orcs or Saruman's Uruks._ Finally, up ahead, he could see a crescent of fire, the scent of burning and death causing revolted bile to rise from his stomach.

Théoden sat upon his horse, Snowmane, completely motionless as the company stopped; gazing upon the great agony that was Minas Tirith, he filled with sudden dread; a great flash erupted from the earth beneath the city, as if lightning had suddenly sprung from the ground and not the air. Turning to his right, he said, "Éomer, my son, you shall lead the first _éored_ down in the center; you can do this?" When his nephew nodded, the king seemed to spring suddenly erect upon his mount; Bella started when she saw the sudden change in the older man. To both her and those who followed, King Théoden now seemed fall and proud; horns began to blow wildly, echoing against the walls of Minas Tirith, and, rising up in his stirrups, he cried out in a loud, clear voice, "Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! Spears shall be shaken and shields shall be splintered; a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!"

A great shout went up among the riders, even Bella joined in, feeling a painful scratchiness in her throat. Around her, spears were drawn forward, their sharp ends pointed towards the black mass of arms which made up the enemy force; a ripple went across the armies of Mordor, like wind blowing across the sea. Her heart dropping into her stomach, Bella tried to swallow, finding her mouth and throat dry with fear. _Breathe, Bella_, she thought. _Just breathe. Daddy, I love you; don't hate your "kiddo" if she fucks up now._ She looked out at the vast horde which surrounded the city of Minas Tirith; had it been any other occasion, she would have taken the time to admire the white structure, rising out from the mountain like the prow of a great stone ship. But, right now, her eyes saw only the massive strength of arms which stood between the Rohan riders and the people of Gondor. The hammering in her chest heightened and the sick feeling in her stomach grew heavier, like someone had dropped a great weight down her throat.

"Are you alright, Bella?" Gamling's low voice beside her was reassuring, easing the tension.

With a shaky breath, she answered, "Honestly, I feel like spilling the contents of my stomach onto the ground. But," she tried taking a deep breath to calm herself, "this is something I want to do. I chose this. I _have_ to do this."

He placed his free hand upon her shoulder, "I am proud of you, Bella. Despite the short interim from when we first met to this moment, you have come far."

Bella wanted to cry; the way he spoke, the way he had placed his hand upon her shoulders: it made her feel as though she had, even for a brief moment, gotten her father back with her. _Dad, what would you say now? What words would you possible have to give your crazy daughter as she charges into battle, to war?_ With a final squeeze, Gamling fell back into the ranks, spear raised like the rest of the riders.

Éomer's voice sounded in her ear, "Bella, whatever happens: stay with me. Do not break the formation and stay by my side. Do you understand?" She turned to look at him, nodding mutely; he too nodded at her, turning away only when the king rode by, clinking his sword against their spears in salute, regal armor glimmering in the light of the rising sun.

"Ride now!" Théoden shouted as he felt the edge of his sword colliding with the wooden poles. "Ride for ruin and the world's ending!" Finally, he reached back to the center of his forces, seeing Éomer to the right in his peripheral. "Death!" he raised Herugrim, seeing the dawn flash upon it, making it seem more a weapon of fire than one of metal.

"DEATH!" the force of riders behind him responded in unison.

"Death!" he cried again, waving about the kingly weapon, turning Snowmane around in circles so as to face both the enemy and his subjects.

"DEATH!" Bella cried at the top of her lungs, hearing Éomer doing the same on her left; he raised Gúthwinë high, so she followed suit, raising up the sword she had received as a gift back in Edoras. Despite the probable weight of the weapon, it felt light in her hands, easily soaring above her head as she thrust it high. She saw Théoden rear Snowmane; the horse and its rider sprang away, Rohan's great force thundering behind him. Éomer rode beside Bella, the white horsetail atop his helm whipping about behind him in his speed; the front of the first _éored_—his Rohirrim—roared like a fierce wave foaming on the sandy shore.

The golden shield of the king gleamed like an image of the rising sun; the grass beneath the white hooves of his steed flaming green, seeming the emerald flames of magical fire. Behind the mustered power which had ridden many leagues to meet the black force ahead, the morning came: a bright and powerful sun, whose rays spread, the blinding wings of the fiery phoenix, banishing the darkness. The host of Mordor trembled, terror overtaking some of them, as the hoofs of wrath rode toward them.


	26. Chapter 24: Pelennor Fields

A/N: Now, as I said before in the previous chapter, I spent A LOT of time "researching" this fight so that I could not only be accurate, but so that I could find a flow that I particularly liked. So this battle became a fusion of the Jackson films, the novel, and even some info I found on the internet. This chapter took me most of the week as I constantly was going back to edit and change, trying to find the right flow and feel of the battle. The next chapter shall take place in the Houses of Healing.

**CHAPTER 24: THE BATTLE OF THE FIELDS OF PELENNOR**

Bella charged beside Éomer, blood pounding in her veins. Arrows flew through the air like birds of prey, talons ready to dig into the flesh of horse and rider. _Keep your head low_, she told herself, bringing her nose near Celebrían's ear. Over the thundering of the charge, Bella heard grunts and thuds of riders and steeds who suddenly found themselves struck by the black arrows of Mordor. Fear jumped into her chest. _Do I know them? Could I be next?_ She gazed up, the line of Orcs approaching ever faster. _No. No! I will not cower before these vile monsters! I'm going to make every single one of them fucking—_ "DIE!" she cried out with a vengeance, tensing her legs upon Celebrían's flanks. The horse sped up, bending slightly before if leaped over the first line of Orcs; Bella swung her sword, feeling the sharp jerk of metal on flesh, metal on bone. Blood splattered her check, but she paid it no heed.

Éomer charged after her, watching the wild strokes Bella made as he thrust forth his spear, feeling the gray body on the end go limp, the life leaving its twisted frame. It was some time before he stowed the spear at his side, unsheathing Gúthwinë, smiling at the flash it made in the morning sun; soon the flash was extinguished, replaced with fresh blood. Taking a brief moment, he glanced up, eyes locking upon the armored form of Bella; her face was hidden from him behind the bronze helm she bore. The usually vivid white coat of her horse was splotched with patterns of black and red; in his adrenaline-filled, battle-driven haze, the strange patterns seemed beautiful: a gory piece of living art.

The Stranger rode up beside the Third Marshal of the Mark, her face encrusted with the black, tar-like substance which flowed through the enemy's veins. "Looks like we've got some company!" Bella yelled at him, jerking her head to the side. Éomer's hazel-green eyes looked passed, seeing, rising out from the dust of the battle like dunes from the sand, the fleet of _mûmakil_ riders; the Haradrim of Sauron's employ had finally joined in the fight. Turning back to Bella, he saw her blue eyes glinting wickedly, a cruel smirk upon her face. Spinning her sword, she turned Celebrían about in order to charge towards the force when, suddenly, a terrible sound filled the air: a livid, unearthly scream. Both horses reared at the sound, their riders too busy trying to steady the beasts to cover their own ringing ears.

Finally, the noise seemed to subside; the horrible screech fading into silence. _There is only one whose battle call is so fierce that it pierces the soul of all men who hear it_, thought Éomer. His frantic eyes searched amongst the fray, finally finding the spiked helm. The Witch-king of Angmar. A horrid, ghastly corrupted remnant of a once great king of Men; it was he who had helped lead the Dark Lord's armies long ago against the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, and who, for four thousand years, had served Sauron as his second in command. The Lord of the Nazgûl himself. _Who better to lead these foul beings than your cold malice?_ Yet something was not right; the great helm crumpled inward and dropped, rolling away, leaving mantle and hauberk empty. A ghostly cry went, shuddering, up into the air amidst the clanging of arms; as the shrill wail faded into the passing, a gleam of golden light caught the Horse Lord's eye: a circled shield, bearing the engraving of the glorious sun.

Without a second thought he rode over in haste, vaguely aware of Bella right behind him, along with the majority of his own Rohirrim. There upon the ground lay the great carcass of the fell beast; the horrid winged creature whose hunger could be satiated only by the blood of men. Firefoot pawed at the ground, uneasy at the sight of the terrible beast; even in death, it could instill fear within the living things around it. But there, beside the decapitated corpse, lay Snowmane, its powerful legs bent at odd, unnatural angles; and, beneath the lifeless horse, was the broken and beaten body of the King of Rohan. Théoden's eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping; yet no breath left his chest, no life shone in his countenance. Bella felt tears fill her eyes as she watched Éomer leap from his saddle, grief and dismay falling upon his filthy face; he walked to the king's side, removing his helm, not caring as it dropped unceremoniously to his side, and stood there in silence. She too jumped down from Celebrían's saddle, lifting off her helmet, wiping at the wetness which spilled from her eyes, the salt burning at the blue orbs; giving a sniff, Bella's fingers twitched, dropping the bronze metal.

But then Éomer turned, face grave, and said to those who stood gazing, dumbstruck, at the body of their fallen king, "Mourn not overmuch! Mighty was the fallen, meet was his ending. When his mound is raised, women shall weep. But now, War calls us!" And while he did not shed tears, Éomer's face was empty, full of loss, as he spoke again. "Let his riders remain here," he said, "and bear his body in honor from the field, lest the enemy and battle ride over it!" Éomer's face searched amongst the slain, recognizing and remembering each face. Bella stood at his side, sword hanging a little limp in her slackened grip; she was focusing on a pale figure which lay amongst the dead: a figure surrounded by a halo of golden hair. Éowyn's face was blank, peaceful even; she was perfectly still, no breath seeming to escape her lips.

Then, suddenly, Éomer too beheld Éowyn, still as death, and recognized the face of his sister. Bella watched him suddenly crumple inward, as if he had been kicked in the chest, knocking all the air from his lungs. He stood for a moment like a man who has been pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; then, his face deathly white, he let out a scream of pain so powerful that Bella felt her stomach and heart jump to her throat. Tears filled her eyes as they overflowed from his. Like a madman he ran to the limp body of his sister, falling to his knees and cradling her within his arms, all the while crying so fiercely that even the most battle-hardened soldier took a step back in fear. Bella walked over to him, shaking almost uncontrollably, and heard him whisper into the ears of the sister who could not hear him, "Éowyn, Éowyn! Éowyn, how came you here? What madness is this? Death! Death, take us all!"

The tears which had filled her eyes spilled out now, flowing down her blood-covered face, landing on her lips; she could taste the mixture of salt, sweat, and Orc blood. Then, without warning, Éomer jumped up, his eyes burning with grief, bloodlust, and pain; he began to stride forth, sword in hand, preparing to charge against the mass of Oliphant riders headed their way, alone. A jolt went through Bella's heart, _Is he insane? That's a suicide mission!_ She ran to catch up, sprinting to get ahead of his long step, whipping around to face him, panting at the exertion. With all the force she could muster, she placed her hands upon his chest and pushed against it with all her strength, momentarily halting his step. "Éomer, stop! You can't do this!"

"Get out of my way!" he yelled

"No! I won't let you just kill yourself because of—"

"MY SISTER IS DEAD!" Éomer roared. "COME NOT BETWEEN ME AND THE FILTH THAT RIPPED THE LIFE FROM HER BODY!"

"STOP!" Bella screamed, voice shrieking through several octaves, placing her hands on each side of his blood-stained face, forcing him to look at her. "LISTEN TO ME!" She was crying, so desperate was she to make him understand, to stop him from charging suicidally against the great horde. "You can't do this! You can't just throw your life away because of this! Don't do this!"

"That was my sister; how can you stand here and tell me tha—"

"Please," her voice was hoarse from screaming, her breath was coming out in jagged pants. "Please, I know how you feel! I know what you want to do! You want to charge out there blindly and wildly, killing everything in sight because you think it shall somehow fix this! That it will somehow make this alright! That maybe somehow you won't feel the pain that you do now...that maybe you'll die too." The last sentence was almost a whisper; Bella felt the waves of emotion continue to crash over her as she looked deep into Éomer's hazel eyes. She did not blink, did not turn away her gaze; she forced him to look into her own blue eyes, forced him to understand.

He was shaking, tears still streaming down his face. "I want to kill them," he said.

She nodded. "I know; but we do it together: the Rohirrim. Do not charge alone; you are not alone in this." _Please_, she begged silently. He stared at her a long time, internal struggle written across all his features. Finally, his face smoothed out and Éomer nodded, his eyes burning with hate and determination. _Hate is good_, she thought,_ grief is not._ Letting go of his face and grabbing his arm, she dragged him over to where their horses stood, patting the ground in anticipation. Silently they mounted, replacing their helms and drawing their swords.

Then, suddenly and without warning—so it seemed to the men of the Rohirrim—Éomer and Bella spurred headlong to the front of the great host; Éomer blew a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling, "Death! Ride, to ruin and the world's ending!" Both warriors raised their swords high, pointing them at the approaching Oliphants.

And with that Bella and Éomer charged, leading the great host onward. The Rohirrim smiled no more; fury glimmered in their eyes. "DEATH!" they cried in one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like a great tide, their battle swept about the fallen king and passed, roaring away southwards. Bella screamed along with them, mind swirling wildly; she kept to Éomer's side, not letting him out of her sight.

The fighting was now furious on the fields of Pelennor; the din of arms rose upon high, with the crying of men and the neighing of horses. Horns were blown and trumpets were braying, the Oliphants bellowing as they were goaded to war. Bella swung her sword with savage pleasure, relishing in the sickening crack it made against the flesh and bone of the waves of enemies. Blood splattered up, covering her face in more filth, but she did not stop in her slaughter. An Oliphant came towards her, raising its head in a deafening war cry. Without even thinking, Bella sheathed her sword and reached for her bow, stringing it in one lithe movement. Almost as if in slow motion, she strung the arrow, taking aim at the great animal; she waited, waited until the rider was within her sight. _Die, you son of a bitch!_ Bella thought cruelly as she loosed the arrow, watching as it missed the rider, instead hitting his companion in the shoulder. The man fell from his perch, dropping limply to the ground like a ragdoll, like a corpse. _Damn, I missed._

Éomer, following her example, grabbed his bow, shouting, "Aim for the heads! Fire at will! Aim for the heads!" The Rohirrim let loose a volley of arrows, all aimed towards the high heads of the Oliphants. Roaring, they stood on their hind legs, bucking the Haradrim to the ground where more riders were waiting with swords and spears. Bella and Éomer fired volleys of arrows until their quivers were empty. Throwing her bow back in place; Bella re-drew her sword; beside her, Éomer pulled out his massive spear, tossing it up and about to better his grip. She saw him aim, giving a hard, piercing look at the leader of the Haradrim; with a massive throw, he let the spear fly like a shot from a cannon; it struck the man through the chest who fell, catching on the giant hook which had been attached to the lobe of the animal's ear. The Oliphant let out a pained cry, head bent strangely at the weight of the addition to its ornamentation; it turned in its course, ramming into one of its fellow beasts. The collision shook the ground and brought both animals down, killing all the riders aboard.

"Nice shot!" Bella cried as she slashed at a fleeing Haradrim, cutting him to the ground. _That's an understatement; that was the most badass move I have ever freaking seen! Maybe he's calmed down a bit now…_

Éomer cried out and brutally swung his sword at an enemy, letting the blood spatter onto his already filthy face.

_…or not._ She turned Celebrían back towards the charging Oliphants, sword at the ready. Bella saw Gamling riding beneath one of the great beasts, raising his bow toward its belly; on his right, the creature stomped upon a fellow rider. Gamling let loose the arrow and continued to ride; Bella saw the animal's foot come dangerously close to his horse. "Gamling, LOOK OUT!" she cried, not sure if he could hear her. For a second, she turned Celebrían to go and chase after Gamling, to off him aid, but her path was quickly blocked by another enemy and she almost did not see the sword which swung at her.

Luckily, another sword, the light gleaming into her eyes, swung at the head of the grounded Haradrim and swiftly decapitated the enemy. "Bella, where is your head? Be attentive to your surroundings!" Éomer half-growled, half-yelled at her, bringing Firefoot up beside her.

"I _was_ paying attention," she yelled back, a tad annoyed at his temper. "I was warning Gamling to not be crushed by one of the Oliphants!" Suddenly, she let out a laugh; from where it came, she did not know, but the adrenaline and the noise and the blood all seemed to charge her with a strange feeling of euphoria. "C'mon, let's go slaughter some Orc!" she cried, lifting up the sword and letting out an eerie laugh, eyes gleaming maliciously.

Éomer nodded and raised his own sword, charging back into the fray, swinging with hard, sure strokes at the Haradrim and Orcs who ran about the ground, a great battle cry issued forth from his mouth. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched as Bella joined him, making sure that she too did not come to the same fate as his sister. The thought of Éowyn, still and cold, spurred him on further, harder. With violent and vicious ferocity, he relished each crunch of bone, each spurt of blood, each life he snuffed out with a swing from Gúthwinë.

Bella followed, quickly reaching over and grabbing a lone sword on the ground. "Akayake, Celebrían!" she cried, steering the horse with her legs, arms upraised. Heading straight for an oncoming Oliphant, she swung her arms, feeling them nearly jerk her back off her saddle as they made contact with the great flesh of the beast's legs. With great effort, Bella pulled her arms forward, still charging beneath the beast. Swinging her arms again, she repeated the move against the creature's hind legs, throwing the borrowed sword aside and regaining control of the reins. "Waste wowasi," she praised Celebrían, leading her back around the falling Oliphant towards Éomer.

The Horse Lord turned to see the glimmering horse ghosting its way swiftly towards him, dodging a falling Oliphant as it did so. Then, his eyes flickered to the southern end of the battlefield, to the shores of Anduin. The sight that met his eyes made him almost cry out in dismay; black against the glittering stream was a fleet borne up on the wind: the Corsairs of Umbar.

When she reached Éomer, Bella did not understand his expression and turned, following the path his eyes took. There too she saw the pirate ships entering the harbor. Her heart leapt with joy. _Aragorn! Aragorn has come!_

But around her, the men of the Rohirrim cried out in horror, "The Corsairs of Umbar! Look: the Corsairs of Umbar are coming! So Belgalas is taken, and the Ethir, and Lebennin is gone. The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last stroke of doom!" Bells tolled the alarm from within the city; Éomer did not heed them. His mood stern, and his mind clear again, he let blow the horns to rally all men to his banner. He thought to make a great shield-wall for their last stand, and fight there until eventually they all fell. No retreat. No surrender.

"Rally to me!" he cried, waving his sword high above his head, Gamling still unconscious in the saddle with him. "To me!"

Bella joined, aiding him in gathering the soldiers of Rohan. "Rohirrim! To the king, men!" Éomer looked at her and nodded; she smiled in return.

When the throng of riders arrived, Éomer continued. "Men of the Mark! We shall stay and fight until we are all fallen and do deeds of song on the fields of Pelennor, though no man should be left in the West to remember the last charge of the last King of the Mark." Then, almost laughing, these staves he spoke: "_Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising, I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing. To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking: Now for wrath, now for ruin, and red nightfall!_"Even now, as he laughed at despair, the lust of battle was on him, and Éomer lifted up his sword to defy the black ships.

Bella too raised her sword high, a wide, expectant smile on her face. _And now the tide shall turn; here shall the West make its great stand; here shall a great army of darkness and ruination fall._ Her smile grew greater still as she saw wonder and joy overtake Éomer as he watched three figures leap down from the deck of the flagship. Anduril, Flame of the West, flashed like a bright fire in Aragorn's hands; beside him Legolas and Gimli too wielded their great weapons. Bella could not help but laugh when she recalled Gimli's words to Legolas: _There's plenty for the both of us; may the best dwarf win!_ As the three charged forward, a great, ghostly green mass followed, engulfing the Orcs on the shore. "He's done it!" she cried. "He has brought the Army of the Dead to fight!" Like a storm the ghosts swept through the battlefield, easily bringing down Oliphants and Orcs.

The Rohirrim continued to fight, bringing down foes with new energy as the army of the enemy began to dwindle. At length Éomer and Aragorn met in the midst of the battle; Éomer leapt from his saddle as Aragorn leaned on his sword. They clasped each others' arms, looking on one another gladly. "Thus we meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor lay between us," said Aragorn, his face breaking into a smile.

"Twice-blessed is help unlooked for, and never was your arrival more joyful, nor indeed more timely. You come none too soon, my friend," Éomer replied, his voice turning grave. "Much loss and sorrow has befallen us."

Bella rode up beside them, leaping down to clap Aragorn on the back. "It does my heart well to see you still alive, Bella."

"As does my own, Aragorn; the Orcs," she said, taking a quick, sidelong glance at Éomer, "tend to underestimate me."

"So they would," nodded the Ranger, a trace of laughter momentarily touching his face. "Now, let us avenge this loss and sorrow, ere we speak of it!" said Aragorn, and the three of them rode back to battle together.


	27. Chapter 25: The Price of Glory

A/N: This was almost as difficult a section to write as the battle itself. In order to properly try this, I did spend some time reading accounts of veterans and their experience in the horrors of war and battle. Anyways, this is the last full chapter I have for you all today, but I'm already sketching out the next few, so, we'll see how that goes. :) If anyone cares to know, I was inspired by the song "Sgt. MacKenzie" from the soundtrack to WE WERE SOLDIERS as a background for most of this chapter; its haunting melody and poignant lyrics helped provide great inspiration. Actually, in the original draft of this chapter, I included it, but then decided that the story did better without out. But, yeah, in case anyone wanted to know the "feel" of most of this chapter, that was it. :)

**CHAPTER 25: THE PRICE OF GLORY**

With the aid of the Army of the Dead, the battle ended swiftly; the Rohirric soldiers merely picked off stragglers or wounded on the field. Aragorn, Éomer, and Bella rode back towards the Gate of the City, and they were now weary beyond joy and sorrow. It was a great victory, a bitter victory; for although the three of them were unscathed—for, indeed, few had dared look on their faces in the hours of their wrath—many others were hurt or dead upon the field.

Before the three of them was Éowyn, borne gently upon soft pillows; when the fighting had come to a still, Aragorn had discovered the faint, but still present pulse within Éowyn's limbs. Bella had stood in silence, guilty that she had not told Éomer sooner; she felt guilty that she felt driven by a duty to not let the story change. Théoden's body was covered with a great cloth of gold, and they bore torches—flames pale in the sunlight—about him. Éomer seemed not to see the two bodies before him; he stared straight ahead, never deviating in his determined gaze. Bella, in slipping surreptitious sidelong glances his way, felt a pain through her heart as she watched his mask of stone. _He's dying on the inside, and I can't tell him anything. I can't tell him that Aragorn shall heal Éowyn; I cannot even give him solace in that. _She wanted to shout out her frustration at this; a frustration which was edging closer and closer to pure anguish.

Soon the procession reached the Houses of Healing; Éowyn was laid upon a bed beside two male figures: Faramir and Merry. Though the women who served in the house were skilled in the healing of wound and hurt, they were unable to treat what they had come to call the Black Shadow; those who were stricken with it fell slowly into an ever deeper dream, and then passed to silence and a deadly cold before death claimed them. Gandalf's presence, though welcome and wished-for within the house, did little to assuage the grief felt by Éomer. "The lady lies within and is not dead," he said, "but she is near death."

The Horse Lord clenched his jaw; Bella knew that he was keeping the wave of emotion in check. At some point, it would have to overcome him and she knew that it would happen at a time when he was alone. But she wanted to be there, wanted to help him through what would be the darkest period of his life. _This is my fault_, she thought. _I could have stopped Éowyn; or saved her from the Witch King of Angmar; or I could tell them how to heal her._ Bella, however, did not immediately speak the words which bubbled forth to her lips; her tongue stayed silent as she stared at the pale face of Éomer's sister, watching it grow paler as the time passed.

For hours, Éomer sat beside Éowyn, his hand grasping hers, feeling it grow ever colder. Bella too stayed, standing behind him, watching in silent torment. Finally, as the sun began to set beneath the horizon, Éomer stood, walking out onto the balcony of the Houses of Healing, face turned out towards the blazing red orb. At first Bella hung back, unsure of what to do; she had never done well with other people's grief, but Éomer was her friend and, for the first time in a long time, she felt the compulsory need to be there for someone, for him. With slow, hesitant steps, Bella went out onto the balcony, slowly approaching the Horse Lord, coming to stand beside him, leaning against the stone balcony. He stood rigidly with his back straight, hands on the stone balustrade, looking out across the smoking fields of Pelennor.

Éomer said nothing; all thoughts were on his sister, on whose face the pale fingers of Death already seemed to be caressing. A single tear fell unnoticed down his blood-encrusted face. Suddenly, a hand was placed on his armored shoulder; he turned to look into the clear blue eyes. She said nothing, but merely gazed into his face with a look of utmost sadness and pity. At any other moment, the pity would have made his blood boil with anger, but here, now, it completely unhinged him. Her face swam before his, becoming one black blur, with only her shining blue eyes remaining clear. The awful ache in his heart seemed to intensify and his chest felt like someone had taken a great war hammer to it. Each beat of his own pulse pummeled at his lungs, forcing the air from them, leaving only that terrible, dull pain. Every other part of his body felt numb, as if the grief washed all feeling from his limbs, leaving the core ablaze with agony.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm sorry," it had dropped to an almost soundless whisper. She squeezed the hand that rested on Éomer's shoulder before letting it rest tentatively upon his own, unsure if it was appropriate or if he would pull away; a few rogue tears fell from Bella's wide eyes as she turned back to the setting sun.

Éomer felt the calloused fingers brush against his own, and he stiffened momentarily, feeling his pulse jump. When her hand lay atop his own, thumb rubbing in light, absent circles, he felt his heart hammering against his ribs. All he could do was stare at their hands; they seemed as though to suddenly be foreign objects. _Theoden is gone. So too soon shall be Eowyn. Must all my family be once again taken from me in a single fell stroke?_

_Shit, I'm no good at this, and sorry just seems so damn hollow. Why couldn't the English language have another word for 'sorry'?_ Suddenly an idea struck her, and she looked up at the profile of the new King of Rohan; keeping the one hand upon his, she used the other to turn his face towards her own. Éomer felt heat rise t his face when he felt her fingertips upon his jaw; although he had initially flinched—warning signal against an attack flaring—the realization of no harm had immediately calmed him. So why was his heart still pounding? He looked into her eyes, the bright color of the blue orbs almost startling, blazing out amidst the surrounding redness.

Removing her hand from his face, Bella placed it upon the bronze plates which covered her breast. "Meus pectus lacrimat," she then lifted it from her heart and placed it upon his own, "a tuo." It was all she could say; it was all that came to mind. Inside, she crumpled, awash with guilt. _Tell him_, she thought. _Tell him everything will be alright; that Eowyn will be fine; that he will be a great king._ Yet she could not; those yellowed pages and that tattered, black leather cover swam before her eyes, binding her to silence and threatening her with the possibility of destroying Middle Earth.

Éomer stood still and silent. He did not know what Bella had just uttered, but he knew it was something important. He wanted to ask her what it was she had said, but he could not; he no longer had control over his voice. It swelled and stuck in the back of his throat. All he could do was nod, which he did. Bella sniffed and nodded, briefly rubbing his arm before turning back to face the fields. "Twilight," Bella heard Éomer whisper to himself; unsure if she was meant to hear, Bella did not speak. She looked down momentarily, seeing her hand still atop his own; she looked at the grime and dust which clung to the congealed Orc blood on their skin. It was a strange sight to see for Bella, and she began to wonder if he could feel her hand shaking.

"_Bella?" Aaron's voice made its way though her consciousness. "Bella?"_

"_What, Aaron?" her response was hostile, grief-stricken._

"_Are you alright?" his brown eyes attempted to probe her own._

"_Yeah," she laughed bitterly, sarcasm dripping from every word as she pulled out a cigarette, "I'm perfectly fine." Her fingers shook as she pulled out the "Lucky" lighter and lit the end, watching the smoke unfold and unfurl._

"_Since when do you smoke?"_

"_Since now, asshole," she mumbled, slipping the cigarette in her mouth. "I found them in my dad's drawers," she blew out a puff of smoke, holding the slender stick delicately between her fingers. "I thought he'd quit years ago, but I guess I was—"_

"_Stop it, Bella!" Aaron yelled shortly, reaching over and ripping the cigarette from her fingers and throwing it away._

"_Hey, what the fuck, Aaron! Why'd you do that! And stop what!"_

"_Stop all of it! All the drinking, the partying, the reckless behavior, and especially the smoking! Your father would—"_

"_Shut the fuck up, Aaron," she said in a low, menacing voice; her eyes were alight with fury._

_He opened his mouth to speak and then sighed, "You know what, Bella? Fine. I'm done trying and I give up. You wanna fucking kill yourself? Go the fuck ahead. But I'm done." Grabbing his jacket from his knees, he stood up and walked off, not once looking back._

_Bella opened up the pack, reaching for another cigarette, hands shaking as the earth does during an earthquake. Placing it between her dry, cracked lips, she held the lighter up, but could not make the spark ignite; the harder she tried, the more she failed, and the more distraught she became. Finally, with a cry of frustration, Bella threw the pack of cigarettes with all of her might, not even watching where it landed. "FUCK!" the shout echoed back at her, hot, sticky tears streaming down her cheeks; she flicked away the cigarette which was still in her mouth and hung her head into her lap. "No more," she whispered, "no more."_

Her breathing was shallow as she fought the urge to cry. She wanted to; the impulse was so strong that Bella felt tremors running through her. _I can't do this_, she thought, watching as twilight began to settle over the fields of Pelennor. _Who was I to even think that I was capable of being part of this world, of understanding all this? I'm just a girl; a girl who suddenly found herself living a fantasy. These are real people, with real lives! I know that my meddling could destroy them all; but it hurts so goddamn much to watch them suffer, to watch so much pain, so much death._ Looking out from the balcony, she saw the corpses lying across the battlefield; smoke rose up from the ground and several soldiers continued searching for any among their countrymen who were not dead; from behind, she heard the moans and screams of the wounded being brought into the Houses of Healing. Bella felt suddenly sick and clammy, her body shaking uncontrollably. _Is this what it feels like? Is this it?_ "This is glory?" she whispered, voice trembling; her throat was raw from shouting on the field, lips cracked from need of water. _This is victory?_

This was what Éomer had known would happen; all soldiers, even the toughest of men, eventually break. "Aye," he whispered hoarsely, a cold feeling of grim irony settling in his stomach, "this is glory." Like so many other naïve warriors before her, Bella looked hollow, her eyes seeing nothing and everything at the same time. "With every battle you fight—every life you take—part of you is ripped away, a part of you is killed with them. This," he looked out across the desolated plain, "is what all those poems, all those songs of victory and glory and valor forget."

Bella exhaled shallowly, lungs deflating into her chest, "Is it always like this?" _Does it always hurt this much?_ Éomer did not answer, merely continued staring out across the plains, afraid that any moment the healers would call him, tell him what he would not be able to bear. Her breathing slowed and she closed her eyes, feeling the intense pain subside, eventually disappear like a passing leaf on the wind; a small hollowness was left in her chest, as though someone had poked the tiniest of holes there, taking away a part of her. _He's right: it is like a part of me is lying out there, dead on the battlefield with all of those people._

His throat tightened and stomach felt cold, as though someone had poured freezing water into his innards. Bella's eyes opened infinitesimally, surprised that she had been able to hear him swallow, like a child afraid to lose a parent. Turning, she gazed again at his profile, at the side of this character, this man. Although she could not see most of his face, the painful desperation in Éomer's eyes disarmed her completely. Éomer frustrated her to no end; he was chauvinistic, stubborn, distant, and hundreds of other things. But right now, he was just a man who feared the terrible possibility that he would lose the rest of his family. And though Bella knew this was not the case, that Éowyn would be fine, she understood how it felt to have one's world ripped apart in one fell blow.

Afraid of what she might say or do, Bella turned her face from his, unable to continue looking into the depths of despair that was his hazel-green eyes. Instead she looked out across the smoking field, watching the shadow of night grow ever closer. From inside the walls of Minas Tirith, Bella could hear the anguished cries of the living; out on the plain, the silence of the fallen. _This really is what they never tell you; this is what haunts the soldiers every night whether they be home or in the field. Daddy, I really need you here with me now; to wake me up and tell me this is all just a dream, just a fantasy. I need you here to hold me close and take away every fear._ Bella's breath shook as she tried to dislodge the sick, hollow feeling in her stomach, looking past the plains towards the Black Gate of Mordor.

Atop the Black Gate, Bella could faintly make out small figures walking back and forth atop the forbidding structure. Beside her, Éomer had not turned; he still stared at her intently, fighting against the overwhelming will to weep. _You'd know how to handle this, Dad_, she thought. _You were always good with this sort of thing._ Lightning flashed above the fiery mouth of Mount Doom

Silent tears fell from Éomer's eyes; he suddenly felt tired, drained. Bella glanced sidelong at the Horse Lord, seeing the tears; she turned to look at him, her throat tight, the words she spoke coming out as a mere whisper. "I'm here and I will never leave you, I promise."

Bella eyes stung from the acrid wind which blew against her face. She blinked rapidly, eyes completely dry; no tears fell now as she glanced into the Houses of Healing. Aragorn was arguing with a woman in matronly garb; they stood over the body of Éowyn. Her heart leapt slightly, "Éomer!" she whispered anxiously, gripping his hand more tightly and leading him back into the ward.

"Aragorn," Éomer spoke gruffly, voice strained, "what is happening?"

"The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill, and it will mend in time; it is the shield-arm that is maimed. But the chief evil comes through the sword-arm. In that there now seems no life, though it is not broken," he explained.

Bella looked at the limp, seemingly useless arm; it seemed as though the blood in that arm had turned to ice, for her veins rain blue, sticking out against the pale skin. Éomer stiffened beside her. "That was the arm with which she stabbed the Witch King of Angmar," she said softly, looking up at Aragorn.

He nodded, "Alas! She battled a foe beyond her strength. And those who will take arms against such an enemy must be sterner than steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them."

"It was her own choice," Bella pointed out quickly, albeit kindly.

"Aye, it was," Éomer answered. "Foolhardy and reckless; just as she always is. The care and dread she had—and shared with me—in the days of Wormtongue and the king's bewitchment not bring her to this pass!" His brow contracted as he finished in a whisper, "She has shared little with me of late."

"My friend," Gandalf said, stepping closer, leaning against his staff, "you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the freedom of travelling the fields of your land; but she had spirit and courage just like yours. Yet she was doomed, as you know, to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father; she was forced to watch him fall into a mean dishonored dotage that—"

"Would seem to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on," Bella finished, not realizing she had done so. Gandalf gave her a look of mild surprise, but said nothing. She continued, "She would never dare to stand by until all chance of glory and honor in battle had diminished, leaving her useless; it would feel like a prison, a cage."

"Those are almost the exact words she spoke to me in Edoras before we left for Helm's Deep," Aragorn spoke, eyes narrowed slightly. But before Bella could reply, Gandalf interceded again.

"Do you think, Éomer, that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden's ears? No, I do not doubt that though he wrapped his cruelty in more cunning back in Edoras, cruel he was nonetheless." He took several steps toward Éomer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "My lord, if your sister's love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips, you might have heard such things escape them as would shock any man." Gandalf turned his head toward the shieldmaiden and spoke low, almost as if more to himself than Éomer, "Who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls closing in about her, a cage to shackle some wild thing in?"

Éomer was silent, looking on his sister, as if looking back through the history, trying to find something that he might have missed. Bella had long let go of his hand, having bent closer to Éowyn, examining the sword-arm with her eyes. "I saw also what you saw, Éomer," said Aragorn. "And yet, Éomer, I know she loves you more truly than any other; for she loves and knows you; but in m—in everything else she loves only a shadow and a thought: a hope of glory and great deeds." Bella glanced quickly up at Aragorn, noticing his slip; he darted his eyes away from hers.

Her eyebrows arched knowingly for a brief moment before she returned again to Éowyn's arm. Gently she lifted it, feeling at the wrist a fading, yet present, pulse. "Aragorn, you might want to heal this quickly; she has a pulse but it's weak. If you don't do something now, I fear she will lose this arm, or worse," she swallowed hard, "her life."

"I have," he spoke, "the power to heal her arm, and maybe even to recall her from the dark valley of Shadow. But I know not whether she will awake to hope, forgetfulness or even despair; and if it be to despair, then she will die, unless other healing comes which I cannot bring." The matron with whom he had been arguing reappeared, a steaming bowl of some clear liquid in her hand.

The fragrance wafted over to Bella and she almost immediately felt calmed, relaxed; it felt as though someone had slipped something warm down her throat, letting it settle in her chest. "You had them brew _athelas_," she breathed deeply, letting the steam momentarily relax her stiff and sore muscles. _And this doesn't exist at home because…?_

Aragorn nodded and then stooped, looking into Éowyn's face. He submerged a small cloth within the bowl, squeezing out any excess liquid from it as he placed it upon her brow. Bending down near her ear, he whispered, "Éowyn, your enemy has passed away. Awake!" Bella watched the shieldmaiden intently; suddenly her chest rose in a long, deep breath. Éowyn's face did not change, but the sight of her now steady breathing lightened Aragorn's heart immensely; he turned to Éomer, "Call her to you."

Silently, the Horse Lord knelt down beside his sister, placing his lips near hear ear, whispering, "Éowyn, Éowyn. My dear sister, the shadow is gone and the darkness passed, awake. Please, awake, my brave sister."

Bella watched as, like some strange magic, Éowyn's eyes slowly opened, gazing at the face of her beloved brother. "Éomer?" she whispered, voice cracking from a dry throat. "What of the Lord of the Mark? What of King Théoden? What of our uncle?" The queries were quiet, yet the small company surrounding her sickbed heard every word and felt a silent pang of sadness.

Éomer stroked his sister's hair, "He is dead, my sister." Tears fell from his eyes as he wiped away several of Éowyn's own. "But," he continued, "he bade me to say farewell to Éowyn, dearer than daughter. He lies now in the Citadel of Gondor, in great honor."

"It is with great gladness what we see you wake again, m'lady," Gandalf spoke, taking a step forward before leaning upon his staff.

"As am I, Gandalf Greyhame, as am I. But now, I think, I shall rest some more, for the hurt is great and the exhaustion deep." With that the shiledmaiden turned her head, closed her eyes, and fell into a natural, peaceful sleep.

"Bella," the wizard had made his way towards her, placing a hand upon her shoulder, "there are some things that I wish to discuss with you, in private."

"But I…" she glanced briefly over at Éomer, wishing more to stay than to go.

"I can assure you," he whispered, "that Lord Éomer shall not wish to see much outside this room for some time."

She nodded, "All right, then. Lead the way."

Gandalf swept past people running in all directions; some laughing, some crying, others just running in an attempt to understand all that had just happened. Doing her best to keep stride with the wizard, Bella found herself half-running, constantly jumping out of the way or through people. Finally, he turned, opening up a large, ornate door and motioned her inside.

Bella heard the door shut and lock behind her, but she did not turn around, instead gazing at the room in which she now stood. The walls were made of white and black marble, a strange shimmering substance creating beautiful patterns along the columns; windows and mirrors lined the sides, creating the illusion of a never-ending, infinite space. "Do you know what this room is, Bella?" Gandalf asked, placing both hands upon his staff, leaning against the white rod; she shook her head slowly, still gaping at the beauty of the space. The wizard turned to face her, eyes glittering with amusement when he saw her awestruck expression. "This room was built in Minas Tirith to show the everlasting alliance between elves, dwarves, and men. Each element is a gift from each of the three worlds which, together, prove to create a beauty and power beyond reckoning."

Bella nodded mutely, swallowing conspicuously. _J.R.R. Tolkein didn't write about this…_

"I have brought you here," the old man continued, "so that you may understand exactly what is at stake; every ideology and understanding that we fight for is here, in this room. Now," he gazed deep into her eyes, "I think it is time that the truth be allowed its own breath of life."

_**A/N:**_ Yeah, I know...another one. This is only to point out that I apologize that the first version of this chapter was incomplete. As you can see, there is a little bit more tacked onto the end. Now why, you may ask, have I done this? Well, it is probably because I had originally planned out this giant scene where Bella tells Gandalf about herself, etc.; but, in trying to write that scene over and over and over again, it just didn't work. So, I extracted the very opening of that sequence and tacked it onto the end of this chapter. Apologies for those who wanted to know how that sequence was going to play out, but it just wasn't working and I couldn't find a way to make it fit; if it's any consolation, you'll find out a bit more of Gandalf's thoughts of the whole situation in a later chapter...I promise.

As for the room in which Gandalf "interrogates" her: it is of my own creation and design/idea; it was a part I had been constructing in my head since I realized way back when I was first conceptualizing the story, knowing that Bella would have to tell Gandalf everything eventually. As for the other characters in the story...well, you might just have to wait and see about that. ;)


	28. Chapter 26: Guilty Truth, Innocent Blood

A/N: Hello! Yes, I am not dead, though I'm sure it seems like it. Well, to be fair to you all, I'll be honest: I'd walked away from this story for a while. I do plan on, at some point, going back and editing it from start to finish but, obviously, that would entail needing to FINISH it first, lol. I can't guarantee that I will be uploading chapters on a regular basis-not that I have a good track record to show that I would anyway-but, I can say that I have gone back to working on this story. [shrug] That's all I can promise for now, and I hope it's enough. :)

**CHAPTER 26: GUILTY TRUTHS AND INNOCENT BLOOD**

The old, wise eyes glanced up, tearing themselves away from the yellowing, weather-beaten pages, full of question, wonder, surprise, and, above all, suspicion. Bella stood still, holding her breath anxiously from anticipation, dirty nails digging into the soiled skin of her palms; Gandalf had been sitting for fifteen silent minutes, flipping delicately through the pages of her father's literary treasure. This was not the way she had wished for this to happen; this was not what she had had planned. _Please_, she thought, _say something._ Finally, the old man let out a breath, his lips forming a wry smile as he shut the book with a single, swift movement; she continued holding her own breath nervously.

"So this," he spoke slowly, "is the great secret you have been harboring?" Bella nodded in response, unsure if it was safe to trust her voice yet. Gandalf's own voice grew grave, "Knowledge like this is dangerous, Bella. You know this, do you not?" Again she nodded her head, opening her mouth to attempt to speak when the wizard cut her off, "You need not explain anything to me, Bella, however, I must impress upon you the importance of keeping this book, this…compendium completely secret."

"I understand," she managed with a vigorous shake of her head.

"You must wipe it all from your mind. Do not think of it again. Your mind," he held out the novel to her, "is the most powerful weapon you possess. The enemy seeks to do all in its power to destroy us, and _this _would certainly prove an apt key with which to do so."

Bella took the copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ from Gandalf, absently running her thumb over the silver rune which was embossed upon the cover. "I know," her voice was very quiet, nervous as she continued, "that's why I kept lying to everyone and didn't say anything about this. I…I didn't want anyone to know. Nobody would've believed me anyways; they'd all probably think I was insane," she finished dryly, placing the book back inside her knapsack on the floor beside her.

The wizard chuckled, his deep voice like that a pleasant grandfather, as he leaned back against the walls of the Sanctum of Allegiances, his hair seeming as bright as the _mithril_ which was infused within the black marble of the hallowed walls and columns. "You are, without a doubt, the most singular woman I have ever come across."

"I get that a lot," Bella grimaced. Gandalf continued chuckling genially, blue eyes twinkling as he gazed at her chagrin. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she laughed herself, unable to resist the infectious levity of the wizard's good humor, "I know. I'm just…different from what everyone around here's used to, I guess."

"That you would be: a strange girl in a world which, to you, I have no doubt, is even stranger."

Bella thought a moment, "Yes…and no, I suppose. I won't lie: there are certain things in my world that are _really_ different. But, in the end, we're just people, trying to protect what we love and live out our lives. If I really am going to be stuck here," she took a deep breath, "then I suppose that finding those similarities, those inevitable links which make us…human…can make this world seem a lot less strange."

"One would also assume that being previously acquainted with every aspect of Middle Earth would assist in that as well."

"Touché," Bella remarked. "But, I don't know everything since," she motioned towards the book, "I didn't memorize that."

"Bella," Gandalf became serious once again, "I know there are things you have not told me—"

"It's only bec—"

"Let me finish, young one. Your spirit is like that of the forest fire: licking through everything in its path before considering what it is you could be unleashing or even destroying. Now, merely listen to me, Bella. You, it would seem, are a deep mine of secrets—some good and, I am sure, some bad—which, despite inevitable curiosity, I will let you keep; as I have learned over the years: not all secrets are meant to known, young one." He stood, leaning upon his staff as he brought his face closer to hers, voice low, "But, in the end, Bella, you are the one who must make a choice. These are dark and difficult times; as I once told young Frodo Baggins, we must all face the choice between what is right and what may seem simpler, easy. You, Bella, stand upon the edge of a great precipice, with so many options attempting to pull you down by force. Now here is my question to you: will you let one take you, or will you be willing to dive in?" With that, Gandalf turned, walked down the great, marble hall, unlocked and opened the large doors before sweeping out, the train of his white cloak billowing behind him.

_The choice between what is right and what is easy._ Bella stood, unmoving, watching the place where the wizard had been last, not really seeing anything, yet still not wavering in her gaze. With a great sigh, she knelt down, picking up the strap of her knapsack and slinging it over her shoulder as she headed towards the exit, hearing her boots click against the marble floor and the clashing on her metal armor. _Easier said than done_, she thought ruefully, pushing against the heavy wood of the door, every limb feeling heavy with exhaustion and exertion. The hinges creaked as she heaved herself out into the stone hallway, nearly getting run over by a Gondorian soldier in the process; Bella turned to shout at the man, until she saw that his arms were full of soaked bandages and she thought better of her decision. _I hope that's not your friend_. A wave of nausea washed over Bella and she clutched her arm to her stomach, cupping her hand over her mouth as her stomach muscles contracted in uncomfortable spasms.

A door was ajar across the way; she caught sight of the side of a barrel in her glance. Pushing though the people, Bella made a path across the courtyard, hand in a vice over her tightly-shut mouth. The door gave way with a loud bang as she crashed into it, throwing her head over the edge of the barrel and emptying out the contents of her stomach, hearing the chunks slosh about in the liquid insides of the wood. Bella kept her eyes shut, surrendering all power of her body to the painful, forceful contractions of her abdomen. Finally, giving one last spit and wipe of her mouth, she weakly opened her eyes. With a shout, she fell back, tripping over something long and solid which lay on the floor. Her hands shot out behind her, bracing themselves against the stone as she stumbled onto her behind. Lying still beneath her was a pair of armor-clad legs; the silver of the metal was tarnished and worn, the chest plate splattered in swirling patterns of black and red. A stump jutted out of the armor, broken and gnarled like a lightning-split tree, red drops falling from it into a puddle as flies converged about the dead skin.

Eyes, brown eyes, had stared out at her from the brackish water of the barrel; dilated pupils swimming in a dark red sea. Bella retched, coughing and sputtering; nothing was left except spittle and air. She scrambled back off of the corpse, horrified, chest heaving and heart racing; the dead man's eyes stared back in her memory, wide with horror. A hollowness settled deep within her chest and she tried to swallow as her breathing began to finally slow. _Breathe, Bella; just try to breathe._ A sniff sounded from one of the dark corners of the small room and Bella spun, hand gripping her sword's hilt. Though her arms and legs were shaking horribly, she stayed still in her crouched stance, waiting for something to lunge out at her from the shadows. Slowly, a small figure crawled out on its hands and knees; Bella's stomach dropped to the grimy floor as she dashed forward, nearly tripping over the prostate form of the dead Gondorian soldier again in her haste. Dropping to her knees, she caught the young boy in her arms, brushing the dirty hair away from his sweaty face; her fingers left a smear of Orc blood and dirt across his already filthy cheek. "Hey kid," she managed to whisper in what she hoped was a soothing tone, "are you okay?"

He hiccupped, tears rolling down his cheeks in fat, steady drops, as he whispered back, "I want my father. He told me to run but I would not listen." The brown eyes darted around, terrified and guilty, as the boy's voice grew fainter. "He told me to hide and shut my eyes, not matter what. I heard—I heard him fighting. Then," a small sob escaped him, Bella's own eyes swam with tears, "then it got really quiet. I went to…to find him and there was this terrible crashing…and…" his eyes rolled back into his small head. "I want my father," tumbled plaintively once more from his lips.

Bella was frozen in horror. _I want my father._ The young, childlike plea resounded in her head, echoing over and over again. A warm, sticky substance coated her hand; she gazed down at the bright red liquid, turning her eyes back to the young boy in her arms. There, on his lower back and across his abdomen, were deep wounds from which his lifeblood was spilling out. _No. Help. Somebody, please. Help. _"Help!" her voice was hoarse, choked. "HELP!" Bella cried again, clambering to her feet, the child clutched to her chest. "Somebody, please, help!" She stumbled out the door into the courtyard, a trail of blood following her. "SOMEBODY HELP!"

"Give 'im 'ere!" shouted a voice over her yells and, suddenly, she found the small load lifted out of her arms and whisked away. When Bella tried to see who had taken the boy, she found her vision blurred by fat tears which burned at her eyes. Her legs felt like lead and every other limb ached; she was tired, exhausted mentally and physically. With the loud sound of metal on stone, she plunked down upon the ground, staring out but not seeing anything.

"Bella! Bella, is that you?" Someone was calling her, but she did not acknowledge the voice. Her eyelids began to droop. "Bella, are you alright?"

A blurred shape appeared before her, propping her up onto her feet. "I don't feel so good," she mumbled, head spinning wildly.

"I will take you to the Houses of Healing, Bella," the gruff voice spoke. "They are asking for all soldiers to report so as to make sure they have not been tainted by the black shadow." His voice kept blurring and warping in and out of her hearing. What was he saying? Her head pounded as the world spun and, suddenly, all was dark and quiet.

She awoke to the sounds of subdued bustling and soft murmurs. A groan escaped her as, slowly, her eyes opened. _What happened? Where am I?_

"Bella?" a voice asked. It was a familiar voice; she knew it from somewhere. "Bella, are you up?"

Gamling. That was it: it was Gamling's voice. Gamling! Bella bolted upright, "Gamling!" Light streamed in through the spaced columns, momentarily blinding her. There he sat, propped up on pillow, bandaged arm and shoulder in a sling. "You're okay," she breathed in relief.

"Of course, Bella: just an arrow wound and some bruising. I shall be perfectly fit for battle soon."

"I'm so glad. I was really worried."

"Naught to be worried about, Bella. I have fought many battles in my time and received graver wounds than this," he motioned to his arm. She nodded silently in response, a tired smile on her lips. "But you," his voice took an air of stern scolding, though a smile remained, "going and giving poor Éothain a scare the other day."

"I don't know wha—wait a minute, the other day? How long was I out?"

"About two days. Do not trouble yourself, Bella. You just had battle fatigue and dehydration. Water and rest was all you needed."

Bella stretched her arms up, the muscles sore and stiff as they moved for the first time may hours. "Augh I feel sore—like I've been hit by a truck."

"A what?"

"Nothing. So," she lowered her arms back down, "where is everyone? Did the Rohirrim and the soldiers make it out okay?"

"We lost many to the Haradrim _mûmakil_ riders," Gamling answered gravely. "The king and the others have been in meetings all day about what the next move shall be."

_The king?_ she thought. _But Théoden—oh, he means Éomer. Shit, he's the king now, isn't it? That's…kind of weird to think of him as king. Well, if he's in meetings, that must mean that he's focused, considering the last time I saw him was…_ Bella did not want to think on the last time she had seen the new king of Rohan. He had been so broken, having seen Éowyn so close to death. Éowyn. "How's Éowyn," she asked suddenly, trying hard to dispel the grim image of the pale, gray face, surrounded by a halo of golden hair.

Gamling's face lost its gravity and he smiled, putting Bella's worry to rest, "Aragorn worked a miracle on her. The black shadow has passed and she has been healing wonderfully. She is still fairly weak, but in no danger."

Bella breathed a sigh of relief, "I'm glad to hear it." And she was. _Éowyn._ The name of the shieldmaiden sent a pang of regret and conscience through her. She had misjudged the warrior woman: treated her more than unfairly. _The things I said to her at the camp at the road to the Dimholt_, she groaned. With discomfort, she stood, legs wobbling, and stretched again. "Where is she?"

"I beg pardon?"

"Éowyn. I want to talk to her—no, I need to talk to her about something."

Gamling searched the young woman's face for a moment before nodding off to the left. "She is in the next ward. Oh, and, Bella?" The stranger turned back to him, eyebrows raised in question. "You might want to visit the stables past the storehouses on this level: your horse misses you."

Rolling her eyes, she gave a chuckle, "I'll bet she does." With a wave of her hand, she walked, albeit awkwardly, through the partition to the next ward. The spacious room was quieter, empty save for a few beds. Upon one of them lay the shieldmaiden of Rohan, her body facing the opposite direction of Bella. _Sleeping?_ she wondered. _I'll wait._ There was a chair beside the bed; she plopped into it with a small groan. _Oh god: muscles…sore. Ice. Ice would be nice right now. Ha: that kind of rhymed just there._ Chuckling lightly to herself, Bella once again painfully lifted her arms up to stretch, groaning at the sounds of small cracks and pops.

"Bella?"

She opened her eyes and found Éowyn gazing at her curiously, brows furrowed, forming small frown lines between the eyes. Bella brought her arms back down awkwardly, "Hey, Éowyn."

"What are you doing here?"

"I, um—well, you see, I—…" Bella sighed, fingering the pendant at her throat, feeling the clasp give way and fall into her closed palm. Her lips parted; that necklace had never fallen off, never left her neck since her father had first given it to her. _Should I take that as a sign from the LOTR gods?_ she thought wryly to herself. An idea struck her then, something that sent a small pang of sadness to her heart, mingling with the small amount of hope that fluttered, unsure, inside. Bella took a deep breath and, letting the leather slip through her fingers so that the pendant dangled easily, she held out her hand, "I have something for you."

The blonde looked down at the stranger's hand, eyes tightening. "Your necklace?"

Bella nodded. "Yeah," her voice was rough. She cleared it. "I want to offer it as my own white flag—a peace offering and…an apology." Her blues eyes met the fellow ones across from her. "My father gave this to me as a symbol of his pride in me. I've ruined and squandered that pride—especially here, in the way that I treated you." A dry lump had round its way into her throat and Bella turned her eyes back to the object dangling from her fingertips, swallowing. "You are one of the strongest and bravest people I have met and I'm sorry that I dared to laugh at your dreams. So, I think that the pride and honor this has," she held out the pendant to Éowyn, "belongs to you."

For a long moment, the shieldmaiden and princess of Rohan said nothing, eyes flickering between the girl before her and the object in her hand. In her head, she recalled every encounter she had had with this stranger and a barely-perceptible blush crept into her cheeks in memory of their exchange at the Dimholt. She had not particularly liked this girl: impetuous, selfish, wild, and cruel. And yet, here this same girl stood, eyes full of an emotion almost like anxiety, apologizing and holding out something that mattered to her, as a—what had she called it?—white flag. The entire situation was incredulous, though, in its way, touching. Éowyn's mouth turned up at the corners, forming an almost pitying smile and she looked up into Bella's nervous blue eyes. Extending her good arm, the pale, slim fingers closed around the lustre disc and brought it close to the shieldmaiden's chest as Bella's own fell away. A few blonde strands of hair fell down from her neck as Éowyn examined the pendant. Finally, she looked back up at Bella and, with more warmth, smiled. "Thank you, Bella."

Relief washed through Bella, and she exhaled loudly; she had, unintentionally, been holding her breath. A large smile spread across her cracked lips and she brought a hand up, running it through her hair, stopping after only a few inches, unable to proceed through the snarls. "Ow," she muttered to herself quietly, bringing her hand back down with a sheepish grin and, to her surprise, Éowyn chuckled. The shieldmaiden's good hand went up to cover her mouth lightly, eyes gently shut as her shoulders shook with laughter. Bella smiled, rocking back on her heels awkwardly for a moment as she studied the Rohirric princess's face. A healthy flush had long-since returned to Éowyn's face, though the skin still looked thinner and stretched over the prominent, high cheek bones; the long, nimble fingers had been washed and scrubbed, no hint of blood or grime beneath any of the nails, though some where cracked and wrapped; and her hair shone like burnished gold in the light of the pale sun that streamed in through the columns and windows of the open air ward. There was neither hauteur nor aloofness, and Bella felt the small, sick feeling of shame in the pit of her stomach. She had been so wrong.

The sudden sound of clattering hooves reminded her of what else Gamling had said. "Oh," she stood up, Éowyn stopped laughing suddenly.

"What is it?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you! I just remembered that Celebrían is apparently missing me in the stables. I should probably make sure she's not torturing a stableboy.

"Yes, that horse of yours is quite a demon," Éowyn snorted quietly.

"Only a demon could bear the devil herself," Bella pointed out and, with a small nod of the head, turned to limp stiffly out of the ward.


End file.
